A Collection of Drabbles
by jarms
Summary: Various wolfpack drabbles, flashfics, and short one-shots. Pairing and ratings will vary throughout the collection. Please follow or check back regularly for new additions. Other stories, including original works, are available on Tricky Raven.
1. Lined in Charcoal

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre**: Romance

**Character(s):** Embry &amp; Unnamed Female (NOT OC)

**Word Count:** 546

**Suggested Listening:** _"Fire Breather" by Laurel_

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**:** So, the female is NOT an OC even though she remains unnamed in this fic. More of this story is posted on **Tricky Raven** in my group, _A Body of Work by jarms_, including the revelation of the female lead. At some point, this will turn into a multi-chap, and when it does, I'll post it on FFn. BUT, until then, this is the only installment found _here_. ;)

* * *

**Lined in Charcoal**

* * *

The silk robe slips off her shoulder—its tie loosely bound at her waist—and she's instructed to remove the garment from her nude body. The class averts their eyes to give her some semblance of privacy, busying themselves—arranging acrylics, pastels, watercolors…whatever their preference.

But not him. He simply stares.

Black, shaggy hair partially obscures his eyes—dark eyes the color of midnight oil…deep, bottomless wells that barely conceal the tortured past of their owner. Those have always been the type of men that draw her in—the ones with a history she can get lost in for hours.

The ones with a story to tell.

And the tribal tattoo peeking out beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt confirms that if nothing else, he has a story to tell.

Dropping the robe, it puddles around her feet, and she watches the faintest smirk flash across his lips—a stolen second of appreciation keeps the display from turning obscene. Gripping the pencil, his deft movements glide across the sketch pad before him, his focus volleying between her body and his work.

She closes her eyes—the fire held in his gaze too intense—but she can still sense the burn when he looks upon her flesh. She instinctively knows which of her curves he's imprinting onto the paper, the way his thumb smudges the harsh lines over the swell of her hip when he copies her image, because in some indescribable way, she can literally _feel_ it. She can feel his finger feathering the charcoal on her inner thigh as he works her image into a realistic portrait on the page.

But the sensations rushing through her body…

Every single time he touches the sketch, she comes alive in the exact place he roams. Her body, a treasure trove; his hands, unlocking the secrets.

She's exposed… Vulnerable… On display for him.

For _only_ him.

The soft click of a closing door and a cool breeze gives relief to the heat that's had her trapped for the last half hour. Opening her eyes, her heart falters.

He's gone.

Left in his chair is the sketch pad, and she's lured to the space he occupied. Slowly making her way, ignoring the protests of the other "artists" still working, she picks up the most exquisite drawing she's ever seen. Somehow this man, with his tortured past and intense stare, reached inside her soul and pulled out the beautiful parts. He didn't leave all the ugly and broken pieces behind—because they are there, too—but that's not what he highlighted. The ugly and broken are not immediately apparent when she looks at the art.

An engine screams to life in the parking lot, and she jerks to look out the window.

She didn't think it was possible to be any more attracted to this man, but the black motorcycle rumbling between his legs vibrates between hers, strengthening their physical bond. Watching him turn onto the road shrouded by towering pines, she hears a howl silence the sounds of nature that had been permeating through the thin window panes all afternoon.

Glancing back at the sketch, she notices he signed the drawing on the bottom right—next to a tiny, tribal, wolf head is the name Embry.

A soft smile blankets her lips. She'll find her wolf. She'll find her Embry.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	2. No Telling

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Genre:** Hurt &amp; Comfort

**Character(s):** Bella &amp; Jacob

**Suggested Listening:** _"First Fires" by Bonobo featuring Grey Reverend _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**No Telling**

* * *

_How am I gonna tell him 'no'?_

When I dropped off the boys a week ago, he'd handed me a letter and made me promise: "Read it when you're alone, Bella."

Of course I would.

But when he grabbed my hand—touching was not something we did anymore—I knew he was serious. The deep, penetrating gaze that made me feel like he could see every secret inscribed on my soul…it bored into me, it pleaded with me.

How was I gonna tell him 'no'?

He wanted my answer when I came to pick up our sons from First Beach—he got Thanksgiving this year so I could take the kids to visit Renee and Phil for Christmas. This arrangement…for lack of a better term…_worked_.

Later that night, I crawled into my too-large bed and was swaddled by my too-many pillows. The bed was bought right after the divorce—for those nights when all three boys needed extra assurance I wasn't leaving too. The pillows were bought right after they started weekend visits with their father—for those nights when I needed extra assurance I wasn't alone.

Sipping moscato from a stemmed wineglass rediscovered on nights like this, when the tornadic trio were away and nerves of steel were needed, I unfolded his ten page, handwritten confession.

Confessions of love and sorrow, regret and desire.

Confessions of his needs.

For the first time in who knew how long, Jacob was finally telling me what _he_ needed.

But it was also a plea. The letter was a plea for forgiveness and a fresh start, to let go of the past and rebuild our family.

How was I gonna tell him 'no'?

We were just kids when those two, life-altering, blue lines showed up on that stick. Always the do-good protector with the sunny smile, he convinced me to marry him and move to the Rez.

We had dreams and we made plans. He'd open a mechanic shop with his buddies and I'd earn my degree, caring for the baby during the day and taking online classes at night—when he'd relieve me of diaper duty. Things were good for a while…until the next pregnancy test came back positive.

I was never so great at taking the pill, but Jacob, always eager to take responsibility, claimed it was his slip up for preferring not to use a condom—I didn't disagree.

Recessions and layoffs cut into the number of customers willing to get their cars repaired, and an extra baby to chase around cut into the amount of time I could devote to school. Each night, when my husband walked in the front door, I was too exhausted to log on and check my assignments. Resentment, in its infancy, persuaded most of our bickering matches to last through a couple of good jabs, but life was still manageable…until I watched a blue, plus sign form in the result window before I even set the test on the counter.

Three children under four and the money got tighter; Jacob got more stressed, I got more tired, and the fights got longer and louder.

Jacob was the love of my life, and I was his, but this was something we lost sight of when the thick dust of reality clouded our eyes.

Our time, pre-baby, was quick…too quick. We were never able to enjoy just being _us_. We both understood this—even hinted at it before the divorce was final—but to truly admit and acknowledge it would have been like casting stones at our boys. And _that_ was not something either of us was willing to do.

I woke up the next morning with his letter on my stomach and my face puffy from the tears I'd shed the previous night. Having such a visceral reaction to our memories…

How was I gonna tell him 'no'?

One week later, and here we are. Me: walking toward my ex with a jittery stomach, my eyes roaming over his long muscles. Him: leaning over, elbows resting on an old wooden fence, watching our boys play at the water's edge.

Jacob turns as I approach—sensing my presence has always been a natural talent of his—offering a smile that breathes life into his features…that breathes life into mine.

"How were the boys?" I ask.

"Great! They always are," he answers. Fidgeting with the grease trapped under his thumbnail, he's never been good at small talk. It's like he's genetically programmed to _have_ to get straight to the point, like the _thought_ of stalling causes him physical pain.

"So, did you read it?"

"I did." When I answer, I look down, scattering a few pebbles with the shuffle of my foot.

_How am I gonna tell him 'no'?_

He calls my name, and I realize from his tone that he _needs_ to see my eyes. "Please, this has been one of the longest weeks of my life. The boys and me…well, we made dinner. We… _I_… was hoping we could all eat…as a family. Bella, I need your answer. I need you. Come back to me. I've missed you too long."

"You told the boys?"

"I… I'm sorry, honey. I just… We belong together. We always have. I, I…"

Slipping a single finger over his lips to quiet his runaway thoughts, I give him the answer he's been waiting on.

The answer we've both been waiting _for_.

"Jacob, my love, how could I ever tell you 'no'?"

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	3. The Challengers

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**The Challengers**

* * *

"Make me."

His chest was pressed against his adversary, and his upper lip was curled in a severe snarl. Feeding off the adrenaline charging his veins, the wolf begged for release. But Paul was stronger… Paul was fiercer… Paul was _**less**_ tame.

"Fuck off, Lahote."

The pathetic bastard had no clue _who_ he was talking to, and if _she_ had not walked in at that exact minute, the asshole would have been intimately greeted by the _who_ in question.

Releasing a soft chuckle, Paul stepped back. Easing off the poor sap and hanging his head, he shook it in disbelief at her impeccable timing. If he didn't know better, he would have thought that she'd been watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make him look like a pussy.

Shit, maybe she was – he wouldn't put it past her.

"What the hell, Paul?" The words she chose were belligerent, but her tone held no conviction. The knowing smirk planted on her lips reaffirmed what he already knew.

She was challenging him. She wanted to play. And yes, she had been watching...

Goddamn, Leah was a bitch, but she was his fucking bitch.

As she sauntered across the two-bit bar headed in his direction, he offered her a devious smile and a tweaked brow – all thoughts of the drunken roughneck forgotten as he decided to join in her little game.

Paul leaned back against the pool table to enjoy the show as she weaved around bar-top tables and paused just a few feet shy of his reach. Intentionally standing in his adversary's line of sight, she cut her eyes hard and locked on the fucker. The deep growl she released caused the asswipe to freeze while the amber that flashed through her irises hinted to the wild animal thriving inside her body.

The idiot was scared shitless, and Paul was high off the rush of pride.

Leah refocused her attention because her point was made, and she closed the four foot gap to the pool table. Invading his space, she stepped between his splayed legs and pressed her hips into his while Paul slowly tilted his head and raked his gaze down her curves, stopping his salacious appraisal where their bodies touched. Lifting just his eyes to assess her from under a thick curtain of black lashes, it was his turn to challenge her.

"So what are ya doin' here, Leelee?" He used the nickname she hated just to make the game more exciting, and it worked... like it always did.

Her tone was still playful, but her eyes reflected the scorching heat of dominance, "I came to keep all the _bitches_ off my man."

She was drawing a line in the sand.

As Leah leaned into his ear, she whispered a threat covered in powdered sugar, "Don't forget, Sweetie, I can _smell_ them on you."

Paul was her property.

She was his.

_This_ was the game they played.

Her promise sent a jolt straight to his cock, and it twitched against the cage of his zipper.

Leah pulled back and scraped her teeth against her bottom lip as she offered a sly wink that guaranteed hedonistic exploits.

As he got lost in the images of impending pleasures, Paul realized, a little too late, that _she_ had already won.

Still, he didn't admit defeat easily – not even to her – so he chuckled a warning to cover the awareness of his loss, "Oh, you're gonna pay for this interruption, Baby."

Before he dragged her out of the bar to reassert his authority, she laid down the final challenge...

"Make me."

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	4. A Body of Work

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre:** Slight Angst…with a twist ;)

**Character(s):** Jake

**Word Count:** 100 — a TRUE drabble! WOOT!

**Suggested Listening:** _"Untouched" by The Veronicas _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Alright, I hope you guys enjoy this as it's my first attempt at sticking to a really tight word limit. If you know me, then you've probably heard my philosophy on word limits (and other types of restrictions…*ehem* rules) — _mere suggestions_! LOL!

* * *

**A Body of Work**

* * *

Hands ghost over curves, afraid to touch. The sting of losing what was never his is still too raw. That memory of Bella, too recent.

So, no. He won't touch. Even if they are alone.

Even if no one will know.

But he can watch her with his eyes, ghost her body with his hands. He can imagine how she'd look in cherry red…or midnight black.

Hell, he can fantasize and adjust his crotch. No one will—

A throat clears, "Jake" tumbles from those lips, and he turns. Flipping off the lights...

The '71 'Cuda left in the dark.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	5. Guy's Night

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Guy's Night**

* * *

"Dammit, Quil! When you said there'd be a naked lady, I didn't know you meant painted on the side of the van!"

"Haha! Got you out here didn't it, Call?"

"S'only 'cause Bella's busy with the baby and won't let him sniff around her right now." Jacob hitched his lip and cut his eyes toward his fuming friend.

Embry was pacing to release the tension that new parent withdrawals create. The first time a wolf leaves his cub was always the hardest.

Lounging back in a fold-out chair next to the fire, Quil clasped his hands behind his head. "Chill, Call. It's only for one night. And since we promised Bella we'd help pull that stick outta your ass this weekend, you gotta loosen up. Come on, Man, make our job easier."

"Yeah," Jake crooned. "Take a deep breath and relax _all_ your muscles. We promise we'll be gentle."

Embry jerked his head over his shoulder, his beady eyes shooting beebees at the two cackling hyenas.

They just didn't fucking get it!

It's hard as hell for a wolf to leave his kid. The need to protect his young is always there – pulling at him and demanding he return to his duty.

But, they were right – he did need to cool his shit.

Running his hands through his locks and pulling them tight, he decided to go along with these two idiots. He huffed a breath as he collapsed in the chair on the opposite side of the open fire.

"Alright, so what do you have planned for this 'Oh-So-Awesome Guy's Night'?"

Quickly rubbing his hands together, Quil leaned down and unzipped the duffel bag at his feet. Pulling out three bottles of random liquor that he obviously grabbed off the shelf closest to the door of his mom's store on the Rez, he looked up with a mischievous grin.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Embry suppressed a groan as he internally berated himself for letting his best friends talk him into such a ridiculous outing.

"Quil! You did _not_ have to drag me out to the middle of nowhere to get drunk! What the **fuck** is wrong with you?" Embry riveted his attention on the jumping movement of the massive shoulders to his right, "And, dammit Jake, shut the fuck up! I hear you snickering over there!"

"Sorry, Em, but you should see yourself. Your face is all red and scrunched up. I think you need to take a shit, Man. If you relaxed your cheeks, it would lessen the constipation."

The suppressed groan could no longer be held back as Embry decided to change tactics.

Releasing a deep sigh, he attempted to make peace with the two knuckleheads.

"Alright. Let's make the best of this. What's the plan? Sleep under the stars? Cuddle next to the fire?" He looked up at his best friends with a twinkle in his eye and a twist to his lips.

Embry was determined to make this work to his advantage. He would get home to Bella and the baby sooner rather than later.

"Ha. Ha. Ha, Call. Very…"

"Shh!" Suddenly, Embry's fingers flew up to silence Quil as he cocked his head to the side. "Did you just hear that?"

Wariness clouded Quil's eyes as his nerves jumped. Jake locked eyes with Embry across the fire and assessed him with a knowing brow.

The entire Ateara clan was superstitious as hell – all that mumbo jumbo that Old Quil spouted off had them jumpy as shit. Just hint at something spooky and the big, bad, chocolate wolf turned into a scared, little, pussy cat.

"D-d-did you re-eally hear su-sumthin', Em?"

And _that_ was all it took.

Quil was hauling ass back to the van, walking like he was the one with the stick shoved up his butt, and barking orders over his shoulder, "Let's go, NOW!"

"But, what about guy's night?"

"Shut it, Jake," Embry growled at his chuckling friend as he doused the fire.

Grabbing the chairs and the duffel bag full of liquor, he had the van packed and was sliding the door shut in under five minutes.

As the guys headed back to La Push, Embry finally relaxed enough to realize his friends were right. "Damn, you gotta stop by a gas station, Quil. I gotta take a dump after all."

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _;-)


	6. The Shadows of Heaven

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Disclaimer:** _This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental._

_All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author._

* * *

**The Shadows of Heaven**

* * *

Her head is bowed as she listens to the lure of distant memories. Swirling in her mind and glistening in her eyes, she can still hear his whispered promises of love... of devotion... of forever.

The late autumn wind whips through her dark chestnut hair as she clutches the last of his letters to her heaving breast.

Lifting her face toward the midnight heavens, Mariah watches the stars waver in the sky. Feeding off her despondency... off her despair... they mourn for her loss and grieve for her soul.

Illuminating the night, the moon attempts to shine light back into her broken shell, but she is not receptive. She no longer accepts the offering of warmth.

Her white gown billows in the cool, night breeze as heavy lids sever her gaze from the reality surrounding her. Lashes finally releasing the tears that have been held captive, she is fighting a losing battle. Mariah knows the break is coming. She has known since she opened the box that holds her most treasured keepsakes.

His letter – Seth's letter – is worn from years of folding, years of reading, years of reminiscing.

_He was coming home._ The hopes, the promises his written words revealed... they were all just tainted lies. His future was ripped away from her heart's embrace, and she is still destroyed.

He never made it back. She never disclosed her secret.

Opening her eyes to the treeline, she sees the clouded figure waiting, watching. He steps forward into the open field. The mist covers his bare feet as the moonlight reflects off his bronzed skin. His thick, black hair rests on his broad shoulders. His mouth wide, his cheekbones high, his eyes dark...

He looks just as beautiful as she remembers.

She reaches out. She is desperate to touch him once more, to _feel _him. She _needs_ this... but he has passed too far. The expanse of time has been too great, and Mariah can no longer grasp his essence as he slips back into the shadows of Heaven.

Her stuttering heart writhes in her chest as it struggles to reject reality. Fighting against the cage of bones, the jagged lacerations of turmoil and agony cut deep.

Her lungs constrict, and the request for breath is denied.

Her haunting screams reach into the ether and shatter the illusion that ties her to this world.

Falling to her knees, she curses the angels that hold him in their warm paradise.

And she curses the demons trying to cool her fiery rage with empty solace.

As the last of the wretched sobs leaves her body dry and brittle, she rises on shaky legs.

Turning toward their house, she retreats to face another day. She retreats to pretend, to play a make-believe game of deception. She retreats to paint on fabricated smiles, to offer misleading laughs. She retreats to clutch her secret, to cling to the only remnant she has left of Seth...

Her final reason for breathing, she retreats to hold their child.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts __and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	7. Breaking Dawn

**_Twi-Fic_**

**Warning:** _Sexual Situations &amp; Language  
_

**Genre:** Erotica

**Character(s):** Paul, OC, &amp; ;-)

**Prompt:** _She had a feeling they weren't finished with her yet.  
_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **This drabble placed 3rd in the Twisted Pretzel Awards, One Night Stand category.

* * *

**Breaking Dawn**

* * *

Naked and hidden, sitting in a chair in the dark corner of the room, the shimmering bronze of the wolf's skin was only visible to Paul. The human with him couldn't decipher any forms amongst the shadows. Her weak sight made this little game of Hide-and-Seek so much easier.

Paul was good at seduction—he got this one to come home with him in under an hour.

Still, too many weeks had passed since he'd brought back a plaything and tonight, they were going to make up for lost time.

The girl was becoming more aroused with each passing second. Lying back on the bed, her black lace panties her only protection, Paul was crawling up her body. Skimming his nose along her inner thigh, he took a slow, languid inhale—traversing the long, lean muscle on a direct path to her heated sex.

He growled, low and dangerous, and vibrations shot through her body as he nipped at the satin fabric absorbing her juices. She whimpered in response, and both wolves in the room heard her heartbeat accelerate. They smelled the intoxicating release of her _need…_of her _want_…of her _desire_…saturating the lace barrier.

The wolf in the corner grew more restless while ideas of self-stimulation began to take shape and run wild. Paul shot a warning look over his shoulder to remind the voyeur that it was still not time—their prey was not yet ready.

Turning his full attention back toward the girl on the bed, he continued to prowl over her body, whispering encouragements on his ascent.

"Shhh, Dawn, it's all gonna be okay. I'm here for you, baby."

A flick of his tongue to the exposed left nipple.

"I won't leave your side…I promise."

A graze of his teeth over the supple mound on the right.

"You'll like it…_trust me_."

Another whimper escaped her lips—her wide, glistening eyes revealing the trance her mind was lost in. The smooth cadence of his predatory words, the heat of his dominant presence, lulled her into submission as her head slightly nodded in agreement.

Paul was good at seduction—he coerced this one in under twenty minutes.

"Good girl," he crooned. The wolf in the corner finally stood. Stepping into the low, sensual light that enveloped the room, the girl sensed movement and looked over her own private pusherman's shoulder. As she locked eyes with the newest addition, Paul slid off the bed and glided toward his packmate.

"Fuck! You smell good, Leah," he growled, knotting his fingers in her hair.

He pushed his hard and ready body into her aching sex, and her eyes sought refuge behind heavy lids, his name slipping from plump lips in a soft whisper.

"We have a plaything tonight, babe. Are you ready?"

His smirk told Leah he already knew the answer to his question. Her scent confirmed his suspicion.

Both wolves looked to the prey on the bed with a gleam shimmering in their eyes.

Tonight…they were going to have fun breaking Dawn.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;-)_


	8. Whispers of the Hunt

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

_**Author's Note**_**:** If the wolves were literally wolves...

* * *

**Whispers of the Hunt**

* * *

Tonight. We hunt.

Nineteen days without food is too long for us.

He leads. We follow.

This is how it works – how it has always worked – our mothers, our fathers before us...

The Alpha leads. We follow.

We hear the leaves scrape across the ground in the evening breeze. Some of us, distraught and edgy from hunger, think maybe it is a scampering rabbit. Some of us are hopeful it is a skittish deer. Still... some of us know better.

It is just the dead and crumbling tree debris.

Our quiet life in the forest keeps us hidden from view. The echoes of our hunts whisper of our sins and warn of our arrival, yet the only witnesses to our desecration no longer draw breaths. We consume. We feast. We devour. We are strong, and we will survive.

But it has been nineteen days – too long for us.

Our claws dig into the soft earth as we run toward the clearing ahead. But he stops us – the Alpha. He raises his snout to the dreary sky, surveying the air and halting us in our advance.

His growl is low and hostile – because we all smell it, because we are all hungry – he is threatening us. This is a line we must not cross. We all know this, but some of us think it might not be that bad. Some of us think it is less than bad – good even. Some of us think it is a gift… think _she_ is a gift.

Just one missing human. It couldn't really hurt.

And nineteen days is a long time – too long for us.

Our chance to attack is escaping. Our chance to mutiny never was. She is turning to leave, to continue walking her midnight path. The Alpha is our leader, and we will follow him even as he tells of the promise of death.

A cold drizzle begins to fall. The dewy drops cover our muzzles and cling to the wiry strands of our pelts as we shine under the moon. Our glistening coats will not give us away. Our movements, cloaked in stealth, will hide our intent beneath the illusory facade of peaceful certainty.

Our prey will be deceived.

He has caught a new scent. Our Alpha leads us across the dirt path, and our instincts tell us we are headed to the stream.

The pulse is slow, the heart is large, the beast is magnificent. We think this could be it. This could be our kill. We are starving, and some of us are too eager.

Because it has been too long for us – nineteen days.

The younger ones make us fearful. Their inexperience could alert the oblivious caribou.

But our leader is strong. He is unrelenting and will not tolerate disobedience.

We all know this, but some of us allow the pangs of hunger to replace the memories of discipline. Some of us try to remind the others. Some of us can't focus past the beating heart and allure of fresh meat.

The Alpha growls – a clandestine warning easily understood – and we fall back into the synchronization of a prowling grace.

We stalk the caribou in unison. We are good hunters, and we will claim this beast as our own.

This time the whispers of our hunt will sound like screams.

This carcass will tell of our sins. It will tell of our survival.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _;-)


	9. December's Chill

**_Twi-Fic_**

**Warning:** _Self-inflicted, extremely mature content (Dark Angst)_

**Suggested Listening:** _Sarah Fimm: December_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**December's Chill**

* * *

She gently intertwined her fingers in the strands of autumn rust that covered her wolf's cheek, the beast bending his massive head to nuzzle her one last time.

The parting hour came too soon, but there was a duty that had to be honored.

Unable to let him see the fear and uncertainty hidden in her eyes, she kept her watery gaze trained on the ground as he retreated from her shivering form.

With thin arms wrapped around her middle, she defended herself against the winter chill of the wind siphoning the heat from her core. Her mind used deception and trickery to convince her weakened body that the biting cold was a force of nature and _not_ emanating from deep within her own hollowed shell.

When she first heard of the kamikaze mission he was planning, she broke into a million tiny fragments, and no amount of resuscitating love had been able to arrange her shape into what it once was.

The last three months were filled with lamenting sex and reaffirming embraces. Both her tears and her ecstasy rode her body in tumultuous waves, wreaking havoc on her soul and ripping her essence to shreds.

Every tender touch was just another goodbye.

He was the last wolf, the last of the bloodline. She was his imprint. The one chosen by the spirits to be strong enough to stand by his side, the one chosen to be selfless enough to let him go when it was time.

And it _was_ time.

The seizing of her heart forced her head to jerk toward the forest before her ears registered the defeated howl.

She knew his plan. The pit was dug, the fire was set, and the bellow of her wolf meant he had tumbled over the edge and taken the final vampire that walked the earth with him.

When the purple smoke rose up through the trees, she understood... it was done.

The last of _all_ the immortals was gone.

She felt the heaviness settle into her bones and weigh down her frame, the realization of the loss of her imprint hung over her with a muggy thickness as debilitating as oppression. With every ounce of her waning strength, she turned toward the house – _their_ house – and guided by determination alone, she crossed the threshold.

Their once cozy home now felt tight and claustrophobic – the uneven walls closing in on her mind. Leaning into the wood paneling for support, her feet dragging against the planks of the floor, she pulled her body along the hall.

Arriving at the small bathroom – the place where her private plan was destined to play out – she opened the drawer next to the sink with deliberate movements.

Staring at the two blue lines on the inconspicuous little stick that revealed her secret, a single tear escaped and rolled down the plane of her cheek – her battered soul grieved for another life lost.

She reached into the open compartment and grabbed the thin, sharp, silver object she stashed away the night before.

Hauling her weighted body to the bathtub, she turned on the faucet and plugged the drain.

Her thoughts turned into macabre crystals reflecting all of the distorted reasons _he'd_ recounted during the last three months – all of _his_ excuses for the suicide mission – and her mouth twisted in a private smile as familiar recognition finally formed.

She heaved her ponderous frame into the filling tub, her mind stumbling over lifeless emotions – none of them strong enough to keep her rooted in a world without him.

As she dragged the unsheathed blade across the delicate flesh of her wrist, and as the crimson liquid bled into the water, she took her last breaths and thought her last thoughts...

_**Now **__they are all gone._

* * *

_*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)_


	10. Some Ideas Are EPIC

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Waring:** _Language_

**Genre:** Comfort, Friendship, &amp; Humor

**Character(s):** Quil &amp; Claire, mentions Jessica

**Word Count:** 688

**Suggested Listening:** _"Best Days" by Aaron &amp; Andrew _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Some Ideas Are EPIC!**

* * *

Imprints.

Why were they so much trouble?

Claire always made him do stuff just because she could…just because she "needed him to." And yes, he even pictured air quotes in his head when he bitched…

Behind her back.

Today, she was making him move. Like, literally _move_ from his very comfortable and awesomely custom, Quil-shaped mold on the sofa.

Didn't she realize how long it took to perfect that type of impression? To attain the exact, ass-cheek replica on a damn cushion which kept trying to bounce back _every single time_ he got up to eat, drink, take a piss, or hell…EAT?

So? Wolves liked to eat. Big deal.

He grumbled. He huffed. He even replayed her voice, at least two octaves too high, telling him to get off his lazy butt and wash up 'cause he was starting to make the couch smell.

Of course, like the good little imprinted puppy he was, he did all this _while_ in the shower.

"Ouch!"

"Shampoo get in your eye again?" she yelled from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Shut it, Claire! Don't fake concern for me between your giggles."

He rinsed the soap off his body, maybe even the shampoo out of his eyes, and stepped onto the rug in front of the shower—an unwelcome towel thrown in his face. "Dammit, girl! Do you have no boundaries? A studly man, such as myself, needs his privacy."

With a dramatic eye roll, the likes of which only teens and plastic baby dolls—circa _Chucky_—are capable of, Claire raised one impeccably plucked brow. "Seriously, Quil. The last time I saw you as 'studly' was probably never."

This time _she _used air quotes. Out loud.

"Get dressed," she droned, shutting the door. "I'll have breakfast ready in five."

And with _that_, he was ready in three.

So? Wolves liked to eat. Big deal.

Between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs and bacon, Quil was able to ascertain she had a plan. Through his consumption of toast and jelly, he discovered she was making him leave the house. As he chugged down orange juice, he confirmed it was the result of his most recent pity-party—this one caused by the vivacious Jessica Stanley.

"So, where we going anyway?" Quil whined, obeying his 5'2" imprint and folding his massive frame into her powder blue, '64 Volkswagen Beetle.

"Look, Quil. You were there for me growing up. When my parents bailed and I was alone, when everyone turned their backs…it was just you. You were the one who got me through everything…kept me focused on my goals and dreams. _You_ kept me in school. And maybe it was because of some stupid imprint curse, but you were exactly what I needed—a mentor, a friend, a shoulder to cry on," she looked him dead in the eye, her little car hugging the corner of the backroad, "my biggest support."

Interrupting her adoration in favor of life, Quil squeaked, "Umm… Claire. Road!"

"Quil! Just listen, this is important!" She puffed, but turned her attention back to the unlined blacktop nonetheless. "Without you, I wouldn't be going off to college next year. So, I'm here now to do what I can. This Jessica chick left the best thing she ever had, but she's just too dumb to realize it yet. And I hate seeing you in a slump, so I'm gonna cheer you up!"

She parked near the public access to the beach and glanced at him from under thick lashes. Biting her lip, Claire bounced in her seat, and Quil was reminded of the days when she would get a brilliant idea tailored just for him—like the one time they tasted dog food because _he_ secretly wondered if his wolfy genes would crave it…or that time his dad died and she let him sleep with her favorite stuffed animal for a month just so he'd be comforted by her scent.

Nobody knew him like she did.

And without a doubt, today would be epic. Because she had a plan.

Unable to contain the brightest smile from breaking through, Claire let it shine, revealing her surprise. "We're gonna chase seagulls!"

* * *

*_Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;) _


	11. La Donna Isabella

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Suggested Listening:** _Gin Wigmore: Kill of the Night_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**La Donna Isabella**

* * *

Prowling through the dark, cobblestone alley, her mark follows close behind. He watches the sway of her hips, entranced in the seductive fantasy of promises she whispered at the bar.

Isabella chooses a place along the old, stucco and brick wall, shrouded in enough shadows to keep the curious onlookers at bay. Pausing, closing her eyes, she listens for his cues. His steps cease, the heat radiating from his body warms her back, his breathe billows over the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. Now, she simply waits for her prey to brush up against her—the hairpin trigger that separates the woman from the predator. Her heart rate accelerates in anticipation, her nerves twitch—begging her to turn on him, but the timing isn't right. Not yet. Because no matter what he's done, she can't take what's his until he touches her.

His hands graze her arms, the feather-light tickle coaxes a smirk from her lips and her eyes flash open—wild and dangerous.

This is it.

Spinning around and grabbing his shoulder, she tugs, knocking him off balance. Taking advantage of the situation, she pushes him back, pinning his body to the wall.

The force of the hit against the unforgiving surface causes him to release a breathy grunt, but he likes to play rough, so a grin takes hold of his lips. Isabella watches the glint shimmer through his eyes while she mesmerizes him—her tongue tracing the edges of her teeth, her breast pressed against his chest.

She's done this before, seduction is nothing new—neither is what comes next.

He leans forward to kiss her, and she backs away, just enough so he stumbles forward, just enough to give her the advantage... yet again.

Reaching behind his head, she grasps his neck with one hand, his arm with the other, and twists his body to face the wall. Her momentum multiplying the power behind her maneuver, she slams into him, pushing him forward.

Before he can react, she's flush against his back, at his ear—her sultry tone enticing him to go along with her game. "You like the danger, don't you? You like the aggression, but you still want to make me pay."

"Fuck, yeah."

"Good." She releases provocative giggles to keep him distracted. "What's your name again?"

"Edward."

"Ah, that's right." The blade of the knife in her hand reflects the dim light slithering into the alley from the lampposts lining the main street. "Edward _Cullen_."

"Wait. Wha…?"

This time, she growls low and sinister. "Alice sent me. She didn't like the mind-fucks, Eddie. She wants you out of her head."

Isabella plunges 4 inches of silver metal into the side of his neck, severing his jugular in one swift motion. She takes two breaths—long enough to feed off the rush of the kill—before extracting the weapon, now dripping with crimson.

She steps back, and his body drops to the ground. While cleaning the blade on his shirt, movement in her periphery jerks her head toward the street, a black car has stopped at the alley's entrance. Walking to the vehicle, she opens the passenger door and slides in—the leather seat smooth and warm.

A feminine voice praises her work. "That was hot."

"Well, you helped make me who I am." Glancing at Leah with a victorious smirk, Isabella can only think of the coming job. "So, who's next?"

"Some guy named Paul Lahote. Apparently, he pissed off the wrong bitch, and now she's out for blood."

"Perfect," she purrs. "Let's go find this playboy."

* * *

_* Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. ;-)_


	12. Reflections

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre:** Comfort

**Character(s):** Rachel

**Word Count:** 100 *grins*

**Suggested Listening:** _"Life in Color" by OneRepublic_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**:** This idea came from a friendly challenge I thought of specifically for **Chamsp**: to write a 100 word drabble based on one character using 'reflection' as the theme. What she came up with was simply stunning; her interpretation was heartbreakingly beautiful, and you really should check it out.

After issuing the challenge, this little scene popped into my mind and wouldn't let go until I jotted it down. So, here you go; I hope you enjoy. I don't write this genre often. (This one's for you, **Chamsp**!)

* * *

**Reflections**

* * *

Foot dangling, skimming the surface with her toe, water ripples through her reflection. The yellow sundress she wears shields her thighs from the weathered deck. Bare shoulders exposed to the mid-morning sun, she basks in the beams that heat her skin and glint off the lake.

The smile adorning her lips, at first shy…hesitant…like a new beginning, grows confident and sure with the passing of each treasured thought. Releasing a collection of soft giggles, her breath gives chase. Reflections of their budding love leave her gasping; his name…a whisper dancing on her tongue.

Rachel yearns for Paul.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	13. Ready-Made

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning: **_Language_

**A/N:** _WolfGirl7411__ wrote an extension to this drabble entitled "Domesticated"—go check it out! You will FLOVE it, I promise! She is awesome and by default, so is everything she writes. Of course, I do realize that by sending you guys to her drabble, I am seriously shooting myself in the foot because nobody does feel-good comedy like she does. Eh! *shrugs* Can't be avoided—you MUST check her stuff out, it is just too good!_

**Disclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Ready-Made**

* * *

"Holy fuck! I can't believe this hasn't happened before!"

"Well, she _is_ the first she-wolf." Jared's use of logic to curb Quil's astonishment epically fails, but Paul—agreeing with his brother's reasoning—claps a hand on the sensible wolf's shoulder.

"No fucking shit!"

Walking down the hall toward the men, Jake admonishes with a shake of his head. "Guys! Seriously? Look where you are. You can't talk like that in a hospital—outside the _nursery_."

"What? I didn't say anything!" The wounded look plastered on Seth's face says it all.

"That's 'cause you knew your sister would take a bite outta your ass she heard you talkin' 'bout her like that."

"Jeez, Quil!" Paul slaps a palm to his forehead and rubs it down his cheek. "We weren't talking about Leah. We were talking about her pups! What the fuck were you thinking, dumbass?"

"What? You mean you guys weren't wondering if Emb hit that three times in a row to get triplets?"

A collective groan emanates from four of the five wolves peering through the glass at their doting brother—the first one of them to be crowned 'Daddy.'

Embry is standing in the center of three cribs, facing away from the window, head bobbing back and forth between each like he's watching a ping-pong match hopped up on prescription diet pills. Feet riveted in place and absolutely enamored with his ready-made family, he pauses just long enough to look over his shoulder toward his packmates—the goofiest grin taking up the bottom half of his face in a smile that completely eclipses the sunny one Jake usually wears.

If he'd heard the banter amongst the guys, he showed no outward signs of it. But Leah, on the other hand...

Sitting in the rocking chair next to the cribs—lips set to 'pressed,' growl set to 'rumbling,' eyes set to 'death ray'—she is locked on Quil. Even the overwhelming love of motherhood isn't enough to soften all Leah's hard edges, and the intensity present in her stare makes the poor bastard whimper.

Yes. Quil literally. Fucking. Whimpers.

Stumbling back from the glass partition, he hides behind Jake as a smile of sweet victory replaces the menacing sneer on the new mother's face.

Looking to her husband—who's back to watching the ping-pong match, goofy grin still in place—her expression relaxes into one angelic enough to open Heaven's gate.

"You have no clue what you're doing, do you?" The love in her heart leaks adoration into her words.

"Not one bit." Embry turns to his wife with the thrill of new beginnings lighting fire behind his eyes. "But I promise, we'll figure it out together."

* * *

_* Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. ;-)_


	14. First Phases

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Genre:** Supernatural Suspense

**Character(s):** Leah &amp; the wolves

**Suggested Listening:** _"Warriors" by Imagine Dragons _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**First Phases**

* * *

Leah runs…naked…dodging trees and fallen limbs. Low hanging branches whip her—those stinging lacerations cutting into the tight flesh of her shoulders, her stomach, her breasts—as the unmarked path punishes her for the choice she made: to seek refuge in its densely wooded embrace.

Stampeding beasts at her back growl with mouths full of cotton, and moving through the forest, they pursue her. Their position compromised by the low, rumbling thunder at their feet.

They're hungry for—

She's the prey.

Her body is scratched and bloody, her arms are covered in red welts, and mud smears her knees, her hands, from the stumbles when her footing wasn't sure.

And she aches.

From the liquid marrow of her bones to the fine hairs covering her bronze skin, it's that deep, pulsating type of ache that weighs heavy on the soul and bends the spine toward the earth.

Still, Leah runs.

Breaking through the tree line—free from the menacing forest, free from the rough, bark-clad talons that grabbed at her and left pine needles tangled in her hair—she is afforded a moment of weightlessness, of hope. Purifying oxygen fills her starving lungs, and for this first time in days, she can breathe...until she notices the towering wall of rocks cocooning the grassy meadow...

And the massive, black wolf standing on a displaced boulder several feet away.

Having beaten her to the clearing, the animal is crouched low, a golden ring of fire blazing through its eyes, and crisp reality shocks her mind. She's been corralled.

She's been trapped.

Behind her, the ground shakes. Rolling shockwaves shoot through her body, consuming her, and the resonant sound echoes off the rock face. Their arrival is marked by a deafening change in pressure, attacking her from all directions, and Leah knows.

The other beasts are here.

Turning to face the oncoming fury, keeping the black wolf in view, she stares down her adversaries.

Several sets of yellow eyes appear from dark shadows recessed into the thick brush, and she clamps her jaw shut to keep her frantic heart from fleeing the confines of her throat. They advance—a burgeoning storm slinking into view—and she retreats, head jerking back and forth, individually locking onto each untamed beast.

She's surrounded, the black wolf still watching from its perch, yet she feels the lure of their call: a pull in her bones too strong to be denied, a brotherhood, a kindred spirit.

Buried images claw to the surface of her mind. Her father: grabbing his chest, falling to the ground—his last day on earth. Her brother: his shape changing into something gruesome…something powerful…something _beautiful…_

And she looks toward the sand-colored wolf with sudden recognition.

She hears their pleas, telling her it's not her fault, begging her to return...to _remember_...and the air around each animal shimmers.

Seeing through the cracks in her reality, the protective wall of her psyche crumbles, and Leah understands: she is one of them; this is where she belongs.

Finally. Acceptance.

Her joints snap, her muscles tear, her skin splits—the violent spasms wrenching her forward on all fours—and her howl pierces the heavens.

Finally. Peace.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;-)_


	15. Runs in Paint

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Genre:** Urban Romance

**Character(s):** Jacob &amp; Bella

**Suggested Listening:** _"Never Let Me Go" by Lana Del Rey _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **This is the extended version of my "Runs in Paint" drabble which placed 3rd in the FWAR anonymous Black Swan Summer contest.

A _**HUGE THANK YOU**_ to **WolfGirl7411** for the late night cram session she held with me to get this piece out. Her beta work is remarkable, 'cause if you'd seen this before she worked her magic—_Whew_! All those dangling modifiers, dialogue tags, improper em dashes, mixed up tenses, repetitive words—oy, the list goes on and on and on. ;-)

* * *

**Runs in Paint**

* * *

She squirms, back pressed against the red brick wall, the unforgiving surface lightly scratching the bare skin of her shoulders.

A large hand rests above her head, and he leans in—so close she can feel his glowing warmth through the thin fabric of her tank top, his overwhelming presence stabbing her shield of composure.

"Are you ready?" His peppermint breath billows the stray hairs that have fallen from her ponytail.

Brow furrowed and sucking on her lip, Bella nods.

With a guiding finger under her chin, he requests eye contact—his penetrating stare boring a hole straight to her insecurities.

"It's okay, we won't get caught. I've done this before." The playboy smirk pulling his lips does nothing to quiet her subconscious—the inner voice that just tattooed the Bad Girl label across her forehead.

Taking a resetting a breath, she gathers her courage. "All right. Let's do this."

Jacob scoops the backpack off the gravel-covered ground. Throwing it over his shoulder, the contents rattle and clink together, causing a cold sweat to encase her body.

Her bravado stalls momentarily… until she looks at him—hand outstretched, expectation brightening his features—and pangs of guilt squeeze her heart.

She can't let him down.

Decision made, she reaches out and interlocks her fingers with his—and they're off!

Running under the midnight sky, dodging overgrown grass and small bushes, he pulls her along the dirt path he has taken many times. The fence ahead looks impenetrable, and Bella's steps slow in protest.

"Trust me," he whispers over his shoulder.

Dipping to the right, skirting the chain link barrier encircling the abandoned building, Jacob suddenly halts their advance. Kneeling and pushing against the barricade, the rust-covered metal gives.

He transfers the residual orange dust from palms to camouflage pants before guiding her through the opening.

As they dart across the broken asphalt of the long deceased parking lot, she questions the exposed gap he left in the fence.

"It's harder to find the exit from this side." His explanation reinforces the number one rule—always have an escape route.

Arriving under the cover of painted cement and broken glass, the colorful walls of the old warehouse provide the only privacy they will receive tonight.

A grimy mattress—flat and smeared with dirt—lies on one side of the expansive room long since stripped of its machinery. Walking toward the offensive padding, Bella shudders, hoping the involuntary reaction doesn't make her seem ungrateful.

The release of a zipper echoes through the room, and Jacob is suddenly behind her—heated breath teasing the back of her neck.

"Wait, Bells."

Stepping around her, he fans a blanket across the broken springs poking through the makeshift bed.

"Get comfortable. This'll take a while."

She settles in and watches him pull metal cans capped in bright colors from the backpack—shaking each in preparation of his impending work.

He is in his element, spraying the cement with hues of blue, magenta, and green. Starburst patterns in gold and red outline the block letters, and deep black accentuates the shadows of each painted stroke.

With his signature—the final touch—he turns and smiles. Reading the one bold word highlighted in the graffiti, her eyes glistening with unshed appreciation, she meets his gaze.

Observing the room for the first time since they arrived, she takes in the number of tags showcasing her name—seventeen "Bells" adorn the walls.

Jacob is on her, cradling her cheeks in sticky, colorful palms and brushing his lips against hers until sirens sound in the distance. Breaking apart and laughing, hand-in-hand, they flee the scene like runs in paint.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	16. Unphased

_**Twi-Fic**_

****Warning:** **__Language__

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Quil

**Suggested Listening:** _"Take Me to Church" by Hozier _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Unphased**

* * *

The memory of her innocent laughter bubbles elation from my belly on a path to leap gleefully from my mouth. Anaphylactic throat captures the offensive joy before it can escape, adding to the growing knot of desperation—a conditioned response, a survival mechanism autonomously instilled in my body each time I think of Claire.

Shaking off the thick cobwebs threatening to ensnare my imagination, I halt the downward spiral responsible for recycling these treacherous daydreams. This is not a place I'm allowed to go.

The weakened beast pacing behind the bars of my soul will revolt if it senses any trace of its imprint occupying my mind. And I've come too far, fought too hard, to give in to the addictive euphoria of her giggles.

Countdown: six weeks.

Six weeks until this fucking ritual is complete.

Six weeks until the wolf is ripped from my hold and sent back to the spirits. Six weeks until the condemnation darkening _**all**_ their eyes lifts its heavy burden from my aching back. Six weeks until the stench of fear ceases to entomb my brothers' bodies—constantly worried I am a premonition of their desolate futures. Six weeks until Emily's skepticism allows her to stop fixating on my every move—doubt, etching deep crevices in the side of her face that wasn't rendered motionless by the alpha—suspicious of _**my**_ intentions... that I'll sneak off when her back is turned.

Six weeks until I can leave this bitch's home.

I've aimlessly wandered through these same rooms for months—never trusted enough to be alone, never trusted enough to walk outside—caged behind wood and plaster like the animal living inside. The window panes mimic the compartmentalized pain at the core of my psyche.

This is a game of survival, and only one can win.

Bloody blows of controlled isolation beat against my gut in an attempt to rid the wolf of its affliction. But I am no different from the others. We are all born sinners, yet I am the sacrificial lamb sent to slaughter to appease the masses. So they can achieve peaceful slumber each night, I will take on the **sins** of my kind and help abolish the demon that imprints on children.

As much as I am repulsed by this _**need**_ to worship a toddler, I am equally compelled to throw my battered and bruised body at her feet and beg for salvation, to open my veins for her pleasure if that's what she desires.

Fucking curse.

Goddamn judgment. Ever watchful and accusing eyes train on me, teaching _me_ I can no longer believe in my own humanity, no longer differentiate right from wrong.

But I don't want the child.

The beast does.

Lore tells I am the first to attach to someone so young. I scream at the ancient ones to listen, to heed my suffering, to take notice of my offering… to _**not repeat **_this mistake. Willingly, I return the wolf, so they will return _me_.

Six weeks until I am free… until we are all free.

Or so we hope.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	17. Dare You Say

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language, Drinking, &amp; Sexual Situations_

**Genre:** Erotica

**Character(s):** Paul, Bella, &amp; ;-)

**Prompt:** _It all started with a dare._

**Suggested Listening:** _"I Miss the Misery" by Halestorm_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Dare You Say**

* * *

He prowls closer, eyes locked and intentions loaded. Your breath flutters in its escape from your lungs, and your heartbeat hammers against the cage of your ribs in protest.

_It all started with a dare._

Another step—he's closing the gap—perspiration creeps onto your brow, ice cold chills race up your spine. Is this really happening?

_Just a few shots and the next thing you knew, you were on the floor guzzling a bottle of Jim Beam._

You can almost touch him now, if you just reach out, your fingertips could graze the fabric of his shirt. Bella squirms next to you on the couch.

_It was a simple game with his friends. The challenges were easy, harmless…at first. Just a couple of rowdy, testosterone-driven tests—streaking down the street, chugging red Solo cups of beer—simple things really. But you made sure that changed. Never satisfied unless it hurts—and the whiskey didn't help._

He's moving slowly—his gaze on you, a smirk pulls at his lips—he's enjoying this…a little too much. You can feel the heat radiating off him, infiltrating your personal space. Your body's ready to surrender...but it's not _you_ he's after. This time she whimpers, and his eyes jump to the fidgeting girl on your left.

_Damn virginal prude. She finally chose something other than 'truth' and you wanted to see how far she would go. The fear in her eyes confirmed she wasn't ready for you yet, so you gave her the next best thing—your boyfriend. In that moment, you blamed Bella._

Now, you blame Paul. He's always pushing boundaries with you, but could you really be happy any other way? Passion camouflaged as rage prickles your scalp, incinerates your core, and screams through your veins. Jealousy is an ugly bitch, but you want to play with her tonight.

_When you told her what you wanted, she just stared—biting her fucking quivering lip, Bambi eyes glistening with trepidation. Sick of watching her pathetic reaction, you glanced at Paul. He delivered, just like you knew he would. His dark eyes exuded lust and charged your adrenaline before your attention jerked back to the stuttering girl searching for confirmation. You nodded because, yeah, you were sure._

Leaning in, his hands grip the top of the sofa, caging Bella between his arms. In less than six inches they'll be touching, and he has the audacity to tilt his head and look at _you_. He runs his tongue along the plump flesh of his lips while your mouth goes dry. The fucker is calling your bluff, and the anticipation of the moment shoots the most intense high through your body.

Every nerve ending is tingling and for the first time tonight, you feel _alive_.

One tweak of his brow—he's asking permission—but the forewarning is short. You don't stop him, so he turns and crashes his lips into hers. And Bella's moans are almost instantaneous.

He's so close, you can smell him. He's yours. That's _**your**_ smell.

You can hear the growl building in his throat..._**your**_ growl.

You can see the muscles flexing in his forearms, the forearms you grab, you claw—the ones you bite when he's fucking you from behind.

He moves his hand and you know he's planning to knot it in _**her**_ hair. You know his moves because he is _**yours goddamnit!**_

Tonight, you have found your limit. You rear back and push him off _her_ as hard as you can. He stumbles but doesn't lose his balance—always cool, full of swagger. His chuckles reach your ears, you register the grin on his face, and your blood boils. Lost in the impulsive thrill of desire, adrenaline courses through your vibrating body, peaking in intensity.

You're high as shit.

And so fucking turned on.

Jumping up, you ram your arms into Paul again, slamming him into the wall.

"Chill, Lauren," he croons—trademark smirk in place.

"Fuck that!" Two words. It's all you have time to say before your body is pressed against his and your teeth are locked on his bottom lip. You rip open his shirt, the buttons flying across the floor, his chest exposed. Unlocking your enameled grip, you lick the leftover impressions caused by the pressure and you taste _her_. Bringing his tongue to meet yours, he doesn't let your thoughts linger. He's done with distractions, and you're overwhelmed by your craving.

He bucks off the wall and coaxes you toward the bedroom. Your minds lost in pursuing the carnal needs of your bodies, quenching the extreme thirst and reveling in the rough interplay of heightened passion.

Neither of you are worried about his friends in the living room. This is Paul's house, and they'll either stay or go. The choice they make is irrelevant and won't change a single thing that happens behind the closed door.

Because no matter what, tonight you _will_ reclaim what's yours—his smell, his growl, the marks you'll leave on his forearms. All for you…until the next time you decide to play.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	18. Bro! Knees

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Genre:** Humor

**Character(s):** The pack

**Suggested Listening:** _"Join the Herd" by Forest Rain_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** Thanks to **Chamsp** for giving this one a quick pre-read. So much dialogue here! Thank you, lady, for making sure I didn't have sofa cushions talking to table lamps and such! You rock!

* * *

**Bro! Knees**

* * *

"Where're we headed?" Collin looked at Seth, anticipating the answer to be some secret location he'd ever heard of.

"Jared's." The response was…unexpected.

Brady halted their steps when he grabbed both guys by the arm. "Wait. What about Kim?"

"Don't worry. She's out of the house—off with the girls." Seth assured the newbies.

But the newbies weren't buying it.

He could tell by the terror emerging behind their eyes like zombies from a grave.

"I said _don't worry_. We do this all this time. No one's ever gonna find out."

"Alright, I'mma trust you." Brady conceded with a shake of his head.

"I seriously can't believe we've found a group of dudes into this shit." Leaping in the air, Collin punched his fist with jubilation. "Tonight is gonna be **epic**!"

"Yep! Now let's go. If we're late, we're gonna be the ones on our knees in the middle of the floor." Seth broke into a run, the other two nipping at his heels.

"So, how'd the pack discover this? I thought me and Collin were the only ones into it."

"Nah. Quil was babysitting for Kim and Jared. Popped in the wrong DVD after the pup went to bed. Let's just say the images spread through the pack mind like wildfire."

"Whoa! How the hell do you keep it from Leah?" Brady cast a nervous glance at Collin.

Looking over his shoulder, Seth lifted an incredulous brow. "You gonna let this shit slip to my sister?"

The stammered denials guaranteed the pack secret would remain safe.

As the trio made their way to Jared's porch, the excitable energy from the men inside leaked through the crevices around the door.

Not bothering to knock, Seth led them into the house just as a bonecrushing crack reverberated off the plastered walls.

"What the fuck? Quil! You broke my goddamn nose!" Jake's cupped hands covered the worst of it, but visible streaks of blood striped his cheeks and ran down his forearms—dripping off his elbows and leaving a splatter of dark red trailing to the bathroom.

"Shit, bro! I'm sorry!"

"Dammit, Quil! Calm down. If you're gonna bounce around like a four year old about to piss his pants, then you're gonna sit down in the chair."

"The recliner?" Quil turned to claim his prize just in time to see Paul wiggling his ass into the cushion.

"Hell no! This bitch is mine. Jared meant the _other_ chair."

"But that's the worst seat in the house, and this was _my_ idea!"

The whining tone instantly threw Jared into papa wolf mode, and plopping on the sofa, he abruptly ended the discussion. "My house. My rules."

Sulking, Quil made his way to the stuffy, high-back chair positioned farthest from the TV.

Not wanting to get involved in the twisted version of musical chairs that was soon to follow, Embry carried in a stool from the kitchen—his perch nestled under one arm.

Sam, loaded down with goodies, quickly followed—perfectly timing the swinging saloon door so as not to drop a single treat. "Snacks," he bellowed as Embry deftly sidestepped the onslaught of rushing wolves.

Seconds passed before the tornado of flailing limbs dissipated, leaving Sam standing proud in the middle of the room, all munchies still intact.

Deep chuckles rose from the recliner. "Bro, I have no clue how you manage to do that every single time."

The alpha responded with a waggle of his brow and a smug smirk. "Trade secret, Paul."

Hoarding the junk food and burrowing into the couch, Sam's deep growl warned off the would-be thieves ready to take advantage of his vulnerable state.

Eyeing the last open space, Seth walked to the sofa, satisfied grin sitting pretty on his face.

"Not so fast, baby wolf." Jared blocked his path with a long leg propped up on the coffee table.

"Why not?" Indignation burned hot, turning his ears bright pink.

"Dude! Jake got his nose broken for this shit—that's gotta earn him something. Plus, you were last to arrive."

With a tucked tail, he made his way to the middle of the room—the grumbled list of all the times _he'd_ had his nose broken over something just as insignificant saturating the air around him. For fuck's sake, he lived with Leah!

"Bro! Knees."

"Fuck off, Lahote!"

"Yeah, Seth, down in front. I already can't see from this stupid seat!"

"Chill, Quil. I'm moving." Nestling between the two newbies already on the floor, Seth glared at the rambunctious wolf responsible for hurting the _pampered one_ and forcing him to sit on the hard ground instead of being cocooned by the soft, comfortable pillows.

"So." Opting to change the subject to something they could all agree on, Brady cut through the tension. "Fave pony and why. Go!"

Tossing him a twinkie from the stash in his lap, Sam laughed. "Applejack. She bakes pies."

"Imprinted wolves are so predictable. _Of course_ you like the one that reminds you of Emily and her muffins."

"Watch it, Lahote. Don't wanna hafta knock that smirk off your face. Especially since your blood wouldn't match the decor around here."

"Relax, boss, I'm just messin' with ya. But seriously, Rainbow Dash is THE best pony. She's _fast_, and just fuck-awesome in general."

"Aw hell nah! Twilight Sparkle is the bomb! She's magic and shit! Man, she's a _princess_."

"Dude, they're _all_ magic." Jared's logic interrupted Quil's fangirling squeals. "You ever seen a talking pony in real life?"

"Up until a few months ago, I never thought men could poof into mutant furballs." Collin shrugged.

"Oy!" Brady rolled his eyes and refocused the group. "Okay, Jared. Fave pony and why?"

"That's easy. Rarity. She's my little girl's favorite." He tossed a look to the man on the stool. "Emb, what about you?"

"Fluttershy." A bashful smile spread across his lips. "She helps animals, and she's kind."

"Aw, that's sweet, buddy." Jake appeared from the hall with a wink to his old friend and a fully healed nose. "I like Pinkie Pie; she cracks me up!"

Sam passed out the rest of the scrumptious goodies as Jake hunkered down next to him, and the three wolves on the floor admitted there were too many amazing ponies to pick just one.

Piping up from his secluded post in the corner, Quil started belting out the lyrics to his favorite song. The song he sang, on a continuous loop, every time he was phased. The song he forced everyone else to endure. The song they all crooned in unison by the end of their patrol—except when Leah was around. "_Ponies aren't just for girls. Let this tale unfurl..._"

"Oh, God. Hurry up and hit play before he sings the whole damn thing." Sam barked the order to the room full of overgrown wolves, and Seth obliged, leaning forward and tapping the DVD player to life.

"Yes! My Little Ponies! **Bronies, unite**!"

Quil's final proclamation—instigating a chorus of groans and flying popcorn—was quietly followed by a high-five and an excited whisper between the newbies. "This is so _awesome_!"

And for the next three hours, nine sets of eyes were glued to the screen while La Push sat silent, guarded by the vigilant she-wolf.

* * *

**A/N: **This is about the brony subculture. 'Bronies' are predominantly adult males who enjoy the "My Little Pony" cartoon show (a franchise geared toward children). While some definitions of this group include the female population, I have chosen to stick with an all male cast in this piece. Most bronies are openly proud of the MLP fandom and do not take their fascination too seriously. Of course, as with everything…

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	19. Stolen Silences

_**Twi-Fic**_

**D****isclaimer:** _All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Stolen Silences**

* * *

She hurts. She aches. You've tried to comfort her, but she has pulled away.

She is lost. She is alone. She doesn't see you. She doesn't see anyone, anything… not anymore.

Grief has blinded her to all the beauty that surrounds her. You see this in her eyes; in the way they glaze over when you enter her field of vision; in the way they are locked on to images from the past, from the night you confessed your indiscretions, from the night you took her soul, her love, and crushed it for your simple pleasure.

Despair rages in her mind and blocks out all sound. You understand this because she no longer reacts to your voice, to your pleas, to your "I'm sorries," to your promises that you both know you will break, that you must break because it is in your nature.

She doesn't look up when you open the door, when you walk in the room. She stopped acknowledging your presence long ago.

You feel the desolation that weighs heavy in the air surrounding her, the emptiness that consumes the shell of her being. You watch as she wraps her pale arms around her body, a body that was once softened by curves but is now hardened by edges.

She needs to eat.

But she won't hear this from you; she refuses to hear anything from you now.

Her head is bowed, but you know her eyes are dry. Tears have long since left her body.

The numbness that engulfs you as you watch her was once heart wrenching, but now it just… is. You understand you can no longer fix her, yet you were the one who broke her.

This is the last time, the last attempt you will make. This is something you both know, you both understand, even though it has been months since a single word has passed between you.

You don't touch her because you can't bear to watch her flinch, you still can't accept what you have done, and you don't want her to force you to remember your part in all this when her small frame jerks under your caress. So, no… you won't touch her.

You crawl on the bed behind her just to be close to her once more.

Gently placing a kiss between her shoulder blades, you pause. This is it.

This is your goodbye.

You breathe in the moment; you breathe in her scent. And you allow yourself to feel it.

Backing off the bed, you watch her. No reaction, but you didn't expect one anyway.

Your eyes finally bleed out the tears that your mind refused to release until now, silent tears she doesn't hear, silent tears she doesn't see.

As you turn to depart the room, you allow yourself one last glance. Her beauty is still breathtaking even in this tattered-ruins state.

Despondency overtakes you as you walk out the door and leave her frozen in time, much like the vampires you were bred to kill, the ones you were born to destroy.

* * *

*_ Alright, hit me with your thoughts and "feels" if ya wanna. _ ;-)


	20. The Plastic Chandelier

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Insinuated Drinking, Drugs, &amp; Sexual Situations_

**Genre:** Urban Angst

**Character(s):** Angela &amp; mentions of the pack

**Prompt:** _I don't need to be saved._

**Suggested Listening:** _"Chandelier" by Sia_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The Plastic Chandelier**

* * *

Her senses awaken before she opens her eyes.

A heavy arm, leaden with dead weight and draped over her chest, pins her to the hard mattress. The mechanical hum and clink of an off-balanced ceiling fan circulating above the bed matches the pulsating rhythm of the blood rushing in her ears, and the cool breeze kisses the exposed skin of her stomach, prickling her flesh.

Angela reaches down with a free hand to grab the rough sheet bunched just below her waist. Pulling—rewarded with no give—she realizes the mess of material is trapped and tangled around her legs.

And somewhere, a cell phone is vibrating from a call which won't be answered

Thirst—_overwhelming_ thirst—consumes her, and a mix of sour liquor and stale smoke coats her tongue. Stomach churning from the rancid flavor and the noxious stench of an overflowing ashtray nearby, her groggy mind starts putting the shameful image together.

Not wanting to admit to the degradation of the situation, but desperately needing to escape whatever awaits, she dares to peek through parting lashes.

Shielding hand resting on her brow, she turns to the nightstand—the green LED numbers displayed on the alarm clock matching the early rising sun shining through the dusty blinds.

The man lying next to her rolls, and the imprisoning arm is dragged from her body, freeing her.

Beads of sweat, left in his wake, cover her bare chest.

Looking down—eyes follow the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach—a sea of creamy skin rises up and grips her, pulling her down in the humiliation of its riptide.

Sitting up, burgeoning tears obscure her view of the man sharing the mattress...

The man she doesn't remember meeting.

She drops her legs to the floor and cautiously stands in an effort to counter the spinning room. Blinking furiously—because this is not the place to lose her shit—she searches the bed for her missing bra. As her vision clears, she sees a second man, naked and sleeping soundly.

This one she recognizes.

This one bought her shots of tequila last night.

_John? Jack? Jake? … Jake!_

Scanning the room for something—_anything_—to cover her ignominy, she finds her shirt thrown over the worn chair next to the door. Grabbing her overpriced, yet unassuming, Marc Jacobs tee and slipping it on, she turns to make her way to the bathroom…

And freezes.

A tangled mess of strong limbs woven in and out of beautifully fit bodies lie in some type of dogpile on the floor.

Head throbbing, she gingerly steps around the bronzed gods at her feet. Clutched tightly in the only feminine hand in the bunch is a thin strip of red fabric, and her nerves instantly shoot ice down her spine because she recognizes the material.

Sliding a shaky hand along her side, she feels the swell of her hip beneath her jean shorts—silently praying the smoothness of her skin will be interrupted by rough lace...

It is not.

Her breath hitches at the licentious implications, and the mortification escalates her heart rate, pumping the blood harder—_faster_—through her ears.

Quickly striding the last few feet to the sink, she catches her reflection in the mirror.

Usually so perfect, so put together, this time her beauty is tarnished by the ugliness leaking out of her pores. This time, her outside matches the inside—mascara and black eyeliner smudged around her eyes, red lipstick smeared across her cheek.

Splashing water on her face and trying in vain to clean off yesterday's make-up, her attention is drawn to the remnants of white powder, cut straws, discarded lighters, and broken light bulbs littering the counter.

_Not again!_

But how can she promise something won't happen, when she can't remember what does?

Running past the sleeping strangers and leaving all her Victoria Secrets behind, she grabs the Tory Burch backpack off the small table and swings open the motel room door.

Rays from the morning sun bleed bright hues of red and orange through her quickly closed lids causing streaks of pain to shoot behind her eyes. She pulls the Dior sunglasses from her bag and quickly slips them on. Scanning the parking lot, she digs for keys. Fingers closing on the smooth plastic of the fob, her thumb caresses the indentation that will unlock the doors on her car just as her phone begins to vibrate.

Pulling out the object of offensive buzzing, she checks the messages.

Three missed calls and six texts—all from Jessica, all wondering where she disappeared to.

The final one, received at 4am, assuming a familiar pattern had been repeated…assuming correctly.

Angela begins typing:

Dad said bible study 7. Pick u up 11 2nite. B ready 2 party! WOOT!

Hitting 'send,' sliding in behind the wheel of her black BMW, she pauses. Head hanging in shame, the salty residue of her sins rolls down sunken cheeks and catches the corners of her mouth…

In a feeble attempt to cleanse her tainted soul.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	21. Eternal Twilight

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Genre:** Dark Drama / Horror

**Character(s):** Bella &amp; James

**Prompt:** _I like candle lit dinners, romantic walks on the beach, and porn._

**Suggested Listening:** _"King" by The Romanovs_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This drabble was my first attempt at anything resembling the horror genre (also, the first time I wrote a true vamp story). I have since begun a short MC horror/suspense fic entitled **Crimsontooth** that will only be about 5 chapters once complete (and coincidentally, my second vamp encounter—apparently, in my head, vamp = horror. LOL). Anyway, I would really appreciate you guys checking it out if you have a few free minutes. I'm pretty sure you've seen nothing like it—or so I've been told. ;) You can find **Crimsontooth** listed with my other works on this site, or as a group on Tricky Raven if you are member there. Thanks!

* * *

**Eternal Twilight**

* * *

"Say it!"

Hitching breaths chase the tears running from her eyes. "I, I like ca-candle lit dinners."

_Yesss…_

"Ro-roma, romantic walks on th-the beach." Heart rate accelerating, the rush of blood floods her cheeks—its succulent aroma, tantalizing and close to the surface. "And, and p— … I, I don't wa— YAAAAGH!"

A scream rips through the cage of her lips, and the demon imprisoning my soul, splits mine in a sinister sneer.

"I know how much pain humans can take, Bella." My grip on her broken leg tightens slightly—just enough to make her whimper…again. "And I like playing with my new toys."

Shutting off the camcorder, I unfold to my feet and back off my prey.

Final rays of the setting sun shine through the large, picture window of the studio, and I bask in vivid memories of warmth. Eyes closing, becoming lost in reflections of the past, I can almost feel the electricity of life that once coursed through my veins.

"Ah, my pet. These lessons won't be easy for you to learn, but soon, you will crave what I have to give. You will beg for it…just like they all did. And when you do, I will turn you. Eternity will be ours." My lids retract, bringing me back to the present, the mild skin-on-skin contact of this marbleized shell sends subtle vibrations through my skull and momentarily wavers my vision.

Arms spread wide, I stand before her—my chuckle dark and pitched an octave too high. The shrill sprinkle of laughter cascades over my ears and propels my desire to put on a show. Spinning in the middle of the room—the evening streaks of sunlight casting rainbowed hues off my bare torso, colorful beams refracting through the competing angles of the mirrored walls—a dizzying spell of luminescence is summoned.

I freeze—suddenly, unexpectedly—red eyes glowing with excitement, and her shrieks turn wild and frantic.

"Truly, Bella, you don't know how happy you're making me, do you? The screams. They all scream. Human, vampire…doesn't matter." My apparent satisfaction robs the sound emanating from her vocal chords, and the room is thrust into silence.

"Did you know Victoria was worried you were going to take her place? She needed to get to you before I did, but you had an army of Cullens surrounding you. Of course, thanks to her, they were the easiest coven I've ever had the pleasure of vanquishing. The stupid whore ended up disposing of most of them before I had a chance to play."

My cadence evaporates and a string of monotone syllables lays in its wake. "My plan worked perfectly; the bitch never knew what hit her. You should have seen her face when she realized I'd turned on her. You would have loved it…the betrayal. But you know all about that, don't you?"

Predatory instincts alive, my head tilts of its own accord.

"Tell me, how is your mutt?"

Bella's face crumples, and I am at her side—cutting through the air before the wind has a chance to shift. Grabbing her chin, fingers digging into her jaw, I feel the give of her teeth as they slide off their axis.

Whiffs of pungent musk—damp, sulfuric, and glandular—permeate the atmosphere around my prize.

"Hmm… You still smell like it. I wonder how you'll taste…"

Deep growls rumble the planks lining the floor, and venom floods my mouth in a primitive response. The sharp clatter of shattered glass comes from the street, and the crackling splinter of broken wood comes from the alley.

In less than a second, thick, heated saliva drips down my neck, and the clash of malignant teeth thunder unspoken promises through my ears.

A mix of fear and awe dance in Bella's wide, watery eyes, and gazing into the reflective surface of her two, honeyed lakes—amidst the large, russet wolf hovering over me—I see my own relief staring back at me.

With a titanium grip around my neck, I feel the sweet release of pain for the first time since I turned to stone.

And I relish in the biting agony as the beast clamps down…

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	22. Scripted Hearts

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Smut &amp; Language_

**Genre:** Romance

**Character(s):** Sam &amp; Leah

**Prompt: **_Do you think I'd be here if I cared?_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This is the same universe that another drabble, **Scripted Scars**, is written in, and though each can stand alone, they could also be considered the same night.

* * *

**Scripted Hearts**

* * *

_God, she's beautiful._

The expression written on her face, an exquisite mix of pain and pleasure as she rides the waves of her ecstasy.

Strands of ebony hair stick to the shimmering skin of her cheeks, eyes closed tight, bottom lip imprisoned between enameled pearls. With marks from her teeth still visible, the plump flesh escapes on an exhale when his stroke penetrates deep.

He's on his knees, she's on her back. Her shoulders pressed into the bed, body arched off the mattress, and his fingers grip her hips to give her support—to keep her still so he can work her over the way he wants…to his rhythm…how he sees fit.

Every curve is exposed. Her lean figure lays open, waiting to be devoured by his greedy eyes. His large hands ready to unlock every intimate secret she holds.

The promise is slowly building with each thrust. The coming release is the drug, the high they both need. They are addicts, powerless to its pull, trapped in the search. Each feens for the other—the perfect counterpart—an exact interlocking puzzle piece that, once snapped together, makes the most intensely vibrant colors burst behind heavy lids and every nerve ending scream in the thrills of delight.

He rocks into her, picking up momentum, holding her steady. Her muscles tighten around his cock, massaging it, coaxing it toward the climax. She's begging him without words, and he gives her what she wants.

Removing one hand from her hip, he reaches between their joined bodies, wrapping his long fingers around the base of his dick. Sliding in and out, the extra friction almost causes him to lose his shit, but this isn't about him…not yet.

He gathers their glistening juices and strokes her pussy. The slippery coating on his fingers allows him to play in her folds. Exploring her sex, she moans when he glides over her clit. Finding the sweet spot, he adds pressure, his thumb rubbing circles over her sensitive nub. He is unrelenting in his pursuit of ecstasy because he knows she's close. He can tell by the way her body tenses, the way concentration causes the lines in her forehead to form, the shallowness of her breath, the whispered "Oh, God" that passes through parted lips…

Instantly, she clenches his dick tight within her and screams escape in gasps from her heaving figure. Her hands reach out to claw at his arms, and her arched frame jerks even higher. She rolls her hips, up and down, undulating before him, riding the waves. The spasms of her muscles draw his cock closer to the edge. Before she comes down from her euphoria, he moves his thumb and pushes it into her open mouth, swirling it around her tongue, making her taste the orgasm that coats it.

She closes her lips and sucks him in deep, her heavy moans vibrate his hand. The erotic display before him sends his hips crashing into her, pummeling her sex. He's chasing the high, pleading for the release, and…

He. Cums. Hard.

Panting from the exertion, his body stills, and he pulls out of her slowly. Lying next to her on the pillow, she rolls into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

_This_ is the way it should have always been. _This_ is their destiny. Not some fucked up version the spirits wanted.

"I love you, Leah. You know I always have." Staring at his brown-eyed girl, he hopes she can understand how hard he fought for her…how hard he continues to fight.

A tentative smile creeps onto her full lips. "I know, Sam. I really do, but what if…"

She averts her eyes, letting that thought sit unspoken on the tip of her tongue.

Sam gently pulls at her chin. She has to see him when he says this. She has to understand.

Leah glances back in his direction and freezes. He hopes it's in response to the emotions he feels burning his nose and clouding his vision.

"It was _never_ Emily. Baby, I can't say for sure what the spirits wanted with that imprint, but I like to think it was meant to make me stronger. _You_ are the only she-wolf there has ever been. _You_ are the special one, Leah. _You_ deserve a strong man next to you, someone that can prove himself to be worthy of you. I believe this was all a test. No one's broken an imprint before. Even the strongest of us, of our ancestors…none of them could walk away. But I did it for you, for my love for you, for what we are and what we have, for what we've always had. And I will fight every single day for the rest of my life to show you, to prove to you…I am worthy of your love."

The first tear escapes the confines of her lashes, and he knows she understands. Leah isn't one to expose the tenderness of her heart, but he needs to make sure.

"Believe me, baby. The imprint? I wouldn't be here with you, not if I cared about that. Leah, _you_ are my forever."

With his last thought offered, and with his last thought accepted, they drift off to sleep, held in a lover's embrace.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	23. Scripted Scars

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Drinking &amp; Language_

**Genre:** Drama

**Character(s):** Emily &amp; Jonah (OC)

**Prompt:** _Here we go again._

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** This is the same universe that another drabble, **Scripted Hearts**, is written in, and though each can stand alone, they could also be considered the same night.

* * *

**Scripted Scars**

* * *

_5:37am_

Jonah registers the red LED display on the clock beside the bed, then refocuses on the exposed industrial pipes running along the ceiling.

_Fuck! Where is she?_

Sounds from the hall outside the apartment slither under the half inch gap beneath the door—metal scraping against the knob, a body falling into the hinged barrier, hushed giggles erupting in feminine tones.

The girl attempting to enter is _trying_ to be quiet, to be sneaky.

He releases a deep sigh.

_It's about damn time._

The heavy door crashes open with a loud bang, and she tumbles into the open room—the kitchen island halting her cascading fall.

Rough hands briskly rub life back into Jonah's features. Sitting up, he swings his legs off the bed—the movement gains her attention.

"Hey, babeee! You shu be sleep. Did I wake ya'hup?"

He'd ask her where she's been, but the answer is obvious.

Right now, she needs sleep. This is his part—to convince her that sobriety is the goal. He knows this role well. He's familiar with the script.

Pushing off the mattress, he crosses the room—ready to offer assistance, knowing she'll resist.

He walks to the cupboard, grabs a glass and fills it with tap water. Turning toward her, he stops by the drawer containing the Advil and deposits two pills in his palm.

With outstretched arms, he gives her the choice. "Here, Emily. This will help."

"I'm fi-yeen, Joe-nah," she refuses with an exaggerated eye-roll and a push against his hand.

"Emi-" her giggles interrupt him a second before a single manicured finger is pushed to his lips.

"Ssshhhh, Joe. Broke tha seal. Am gotta go pee!"

He tosses his head back and audibly groans as she turns toward the only private room in the open apartment.

Waiting for her return, he places the water on the counter next to the pills—the candy coating already melted onto his palm, he turns to wash his hands.

Jonah's thoughts drift to all the possible reasons she could have fallen off the wagon _**this**_ time when he suddenly hears the shower come alive.

_Shit!_

Running to the bathroom, he barges through the door and finds Emily in the tub—curled in a ball and fully clothed.

Face hidden from view, her hiccuping sobs reach his ears over the drumming water, and his desire to remedy the situation snaps into effect.

Kneeling next to the white porcelain, he reaches toward her limp frame.

"Emi, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"This!" she screams, slapping at her face. "T's-always this!"

"No, baby. You're beautiful, you-"

"T'you maybe," she interrupts. "Nobody else dough."

Her passion crescendos, inflaming her voice. "They don't look ahme, on tha street they don't. Always turnin' way like I'm sum kinda d'sease or sumthin'. T's-not fair."

She flails her arms; he rakes his fingers through his hair. "What happened, Emily?"

Looking into his eyes, she scoffs, "Yuh wan-know whuh happen'd? I tellya whuh happen'd. He grabb'd mah ass. On tha subway, sum guy grabb'd mah ass."

She starts shaking her head before recounting her tale. "Couldn't see mah face—these stoopid scars. Came up b'hind me, grabb'd mah ass. I turn'd mah face so he couldn't see, so he wouldn't stahp."

Emily lifts her chin in defiance, in drunken bravado. "I didn't want 'em to stahp touchin' mey. I liked tha-ttention."

All her strength vanishes and her forehead smacks down on her crossed arms. "I hate 'im. I hate Sam for whut he did to mey—gabe mey these scars. I hate mey—still feel this pull to 'im. We gotta move 'way from 'im."

Jonah rests his hand on the crown of her head, smoothing her pain with gentle caresses. "Honey, we're in Manhattan. We can't go much farther."

Reaching his arm around her, he pulls her soggy shell into his warm embrace. "Come on, sweetie, let's get you to bed. We can talk about everything after you get some sleep. We'll come up with a new plan."

She lets him pull her from the tub. Standing motionless, he strips the soaked clothing from her body and dries her skin with a towel.

Once Emily's settled under the covers, Jonah tidies the bathroom, ingests the Advil he left on the counter, and makes a call.

She answers on the second ring—even with the time difference.

"I love her. Dammit, I love your cousin, Leah."

The response is brief because they know these roles—both have memorized the script. "Shit! Again?"

With a shake of his head, Jonah answers, "Yeah, again."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	24. Isolated Lies

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language &amp; Self-Harm (i.e. Eating Disorder)_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Leah (written in 2nd person)

**Prompt: **_I tried my hardest but I couldn't make you feel a fucking thing._

**Suggested Listening:** _"Wave" by Beck _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Isolated Lies**

* * *

There comes a point when you have nothing left to give, when stripped-down honesty becomes more daunting than the lies you tell to get through the day. Your life turns into a series of moments strung together by half-truths…and this is when you falter.

"I dumped Sam."

_He chose her._

"I'm better off without him."

_You want him back._

"Dad's death was nobody's fault."

_Somehow, you killed him._

"We all still miss him, Seth."

_Well, you're pretty sure you used to. _

"Really, I'm fine."

_You're not fine._

And so it goes…

You fall into the icy silence of isolation. At least you know what to expect from this place.

Nothing.

You expect nothing because you can give nothing…you _deserve_ nothing.

In this quarantine, you are safe. No one asks questions behind this lonely door. No one cares beyond this threshold. This is your refuge—where you go to escape, to hide out, to spend your days…but not your nights. Not yet.

The cold, merciless stars adorning their opalescent masks mock you, but the moon—that bitch of a moon—is the only witness to your tears.

It hurts. This hurts: the knowledge they will all leave you for something…_someone_…more. You simply aren't enough. You are inadequately lesser than.

So you spend the following daylight hours in a haze—your comatose psyche trying to patch the raw veins threatening to bleed emotion for all to see. You don't want that. The crimson river would stain everything in your stark white hideaway, everything you've worked so hard to clean—hands exposed to bleach so often the skin has peeled from your fingertips.

When the moon once again hangs high in the sky from its invisible noose, when you prepare to loosen the bandages from those throbbing veins, you realize you've gone another day without food.

For the first time in months, you feel accomplished. You feel capable. You feel worthy.

You feel in control.

And yet you don't feel…that _one_ thing you've been trying to numb every night since forever—it's gone.

Your pain. It's gone.

Replaced by a fledgling sense of confidence. Tiny. Small. Infantile. But _present_ nonetheless.

This is how you learn your willpower is infallible.

And the next day is when you learn not to eat, to bluff with a belly full of lies.

"No, I'm not hungry."

_You're starving._

"I just ate."

_Not even close._

"Really, I'm fine."

_You're not fine._

Then _he_ starts looking at you in a way that this boy-you've-known-your-whole-life shouldn't…not if he knows what's good for him.

But when he corners you in the kitchen—at your house under the false pretense of hanging with your brother—it becomes apparent he never intended to stick with 'what was good for him.'

The fall is hard and fast.

He doesn't try to excavate your skeletons, doesn't try to make you eat. He sits patiently and listens. On your terms. Your timeline.

His unconditional love eventually gives you the courage to peel away the first few layers of contaminated gauze used to trap those old wounds. You begin to work through the eating disorder you developed as a coping mechanism—_one_ of your coping mechanisms—until you acknowledge how deep the cut from losing him would go…and how that bleeding vein would ache.

Too scared of that imminent pain—imminent, because let's face it, they _all_ leave—you detach to save yourself, a go-to defense when shit gets too real.

Detachment: another brilliant coping mechanism.

He tries to reach you, to reconnect, for what seems like years. He only wants you to _feel_. But your sense of time is skewed: catatonic fog tends to fuck with perceptions.

And Embry—just like the others—eventually leaves.

Your self-fulfilling prophecy has been satisfied because you shut down. You forced him out.

The one who saved you from yourself has now turned his back, and before you allow this withdrawal to remove the food from your mouth—before you go down _that_ road again—you realize there's an unfamiliar vibration in your bones. The buzzing power of an emerging strength, a desire to fight, and for the first time in your life, you understand.

It's time to fight for what you want, for what you need. It's time to fight for _you_.

And that's when you show up at his door—palms open, offering your vulnerability on a sweaty platter—praying he'll accept you…praying he'll accept your flaws.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	25. Chasing Greyhounds

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Genre:** Comfort

**Character(s):** Embry &amp; Jessica

**Suggested Listening:** _"To the Moon &amp; Back" by Savage Garden_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chasing Greyhounds**

* * *

Jessica leaned back—resting her head against the seat, releasing the breath she'd been holding while waiting on the bus to arrive.

The bus that was 30 minutes late.

Every millisecond of the last half hour added another anxiety-driven beat to her hummingbird heart. What if someone saw her? What if her mother found out?

"Is this spot taken?" A deep baritone filled her ears, the owner drawing her attention.

The tall…

Dark…

Mouth-watering…

Quileute owner.

She felt her spine arch—her breast standing proud in an innate display of her femininity—before she recognized the behavior for what it was and quickly forced her shoulders to counteract her instincts.

She didn't have to be _that_ girl anymore.

"Nah, it's open." Jessica moved her bag from the seat and stuffed it under the bench in front of her.

Assessing her travel companion, she noted the shaggy, black hair hiding his eyes when he bent down to stash his backpack, the caramelized skin covering flexed muscles, the tattoo peeking under the sleeve of his t-shirt…

Wait. The tattoo?

Realization dawned as she placed the tribal design.

Jake… Bella…

Curiosity demanded she ask, even if she did end up regretting it later. "You know Bella? You one of Jake's friends?"

"Yeah, umm…Embry." Sitting back, he was finally situated.

She extended her hand. "I'm Jessica, Bella's friend."

His palm met hers in greeting, and currents sizzled at the contact. Tingling shock waves shot up her arm and burst behind her eyes—colors popping in a vibrant display—and she swore she heard him whisper, "I know."

She _swore_ she heard it.

But with the sensory overload, she couldn't be sure.

"So, where ya headed, Jessica?" Releasing the grip, his long lashes obscured downcast eyes as he reflexively fingered the hem of his shorts.

"I'm going to Aurora."

"Colorado?"

"Yeah. Have to switch buses in Salt Lake—it's gonna take forever."

"So, what's there? In Aurora?" Meeting her eyes, his penetrating gaze requested honesty.

So, that's what she gave.

"Gotta hunt down my deadbeat dad. He doesn't know I'm coming. I figure he's had 18 years to think up a good excuse for why he left us, and I wanna hear it."

"Us?"

"Me and my mom."

"What does she think about your…trip?"

It was her turn to rely on a nervous habit—finding comfort in the repetitive spiraling of wavy locks around a manicured finger.

Why would some hot guy want to hear her sob story? Alcoholic mother she nursed back to health every morning and cleaned up after every night, whose addiction was supported by Jessica's cashier job at the small-town grocery store. The woman who blamed _her_ for the sperm donor bailing on them both before she was even born and reminded her of it every single day for the past decade.

No. She wasn't ready for Embry to know her _that_ well. It was time to deflect.

She released a chuff from the lifted corner of her smirk. "So, what are you doing on this bus to nowhere? Who you hoping to find?"

His extended pause piqued her curiosity, and she looked at the man seated next to her. The soft smile on his face flooded her heart with a warmth she hadn't felt in years—a kindness, a compassion that had become unfamiliar to her. Forging an involuntary connection—a kindred spirit of sorts—and in that moment, she saw his soul. She understood his story. He'd been on a similar journey, searching for something…_someone_…unattainable. A mystery which would never be solved, but still begged to be noticed.

He momentarily dropped his gaze to the fidgeting hands in his lap. A quick inhale set his resolve, and he jerked his chin up—chestnut eyes meeting hers with an intensity that freezes her body and robs her lungs of breath. She sat there, exposed, waiting for his answer.

"I'm chasing my soul-mate."

_Sincerity_.

That was all she latched on to. The one sentiment she longed for.

"Oh." The defeated tone broadcasting her disappointment, she inwardly cringed. What was she thinking? That he could save her? That he'd _want_ to save her?

Turning to watch the foothills pass outside the window, she fought against the emotion burning her nose. "So, where is she then? Your soul-mate."

A graze of his hand along her cheek, Embry tucked a runaway strand of hair behind her ear. "She's on her way to Aurora…to find her deadbeat dad."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;-)_


	26. The First and Last of Your Kind

_**Twi-Fic**_

**Warning:** _Language, Sexual Situations, &amp; General Adult Content_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Leah/OC

**Word Count:** 1156

**Suggested Listening:** _"Hunger of the Pine" by Alt-J _

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

* * *

**The First and Last of Your Kind**

* * *

We don't speak when you blow through town. You're an apparition lost in the periphery of my vision each time I try to focus on your image; this is something I've always known. So I take what I can get: stolen hours never meant to be ours, the collection of moments we claim, borrowed from the quiet stillness of common life.

Anyway…we don't speak. I can't take the chance of scaring you off before the sun kisses the earth once more.

And I _need_ this night.

Even knowing the sting that the crisp morning will bring when the only thing embracing me will be lifeless linens and the chainmail of my armor as it once again scrambles to encase my cold body with its linkage—rebuilding a shield only you can break with just one look, an intricate shield that took months to finesse the last time you left—I still _need_ this.

A trespasser into my heart, you are the first and last of your kind.

Rumors flood the streets when the troops arrive, but I won't listen until I hear your key unlock the front door. You leave your combat boots near the entrance; caked on dirt so thick their color has changed to tan; dried mud and pebbles crumble around them on the floor, haloing the objects that would be offensive if they weren't yours.

The shower comes to life, thrumming water through rusty pipes—this old house in such disrepair I should have left years ago, save for the fact you wouldn't know where to find me if I moved. This is the _only_ reason I've stayed here…and on some level, we both know it.

Not sure when your last hot meal may have been, I warm this evening's dinner and set it on the table before retreating to our… No. _My_…room. You will join me when you're ready. That's always been your way.

A muted hunger, the sharp edges smoothed over because I've become accustomed to the pain, yet thoughts of you still consume me. Taking residence in all the caverns of my mind, you are the first and last of your kind.

I hear the bedroom door creak open, and I can imagine the scene in your view. Clothes strewn about the floor with a single, clear path leading to the bed. The dresser unrecognizable, covered with mail and dust, the attached mirror shattered because…why the hell not? What's the point? Without you, what's the point?

Every other room in this house is pristine, but this room…_this_ room we shared—the one where you told me your secrets, where I bared my soul, the room where we fell in love—_this_ room can't hide from the pain. This room can't keep up the charade.

Climbing in bed, your warm hand wraps around me, grazing my chest, and your cool lips skim the side of my neck. I offer no resistance—I never will…not to you. The contact prickles my cold, naked flesh, and I realize I haven't truly felt heat since the last time you were here.

Rolling into you, I lie on my back and run my fingers up the contours of your silken calf, tickling the delicate skin behind your knee. My touch stays featherlight as it traverses your leg, afraid to attempt the purchase of something only temporarily available. The lean lines of your thighs call out to my roaming hand, begging me to reach higher, and I can no longer find the strength to be gentle, to withhold the beast within.

Palming the firm meat just under your ass, I latch on and pull your thighs apart, dragging you across my lap, your long legs straddling my erection.

The soft towel still wrapped around you is secured just above your breasts and bunched up at your hips—allowing your warmth to envelop me.

But I don't look where our bodies meet. If I do, the hunger left after fourteen months of pining will take over, and I'll be ball's deep in your pussy before I get a chance to really see you.

And I need to see you…I _need_ this, Leah.

Even knowing the sting that the crisp morning will bring…

Reaching up, I tug on the terrycloth until it falls free and drapes across my knees, your strong body on display before me…_for_ me.

You have another scar—you always come back with new scars. This one curves along the outside of your breast and snakes around your ribcage. I wonder if it was inflicted from training or torture, but I don't ask because I can't stomach the answer, and like I said…

We don't speak.

In our world, words cut deeper than touch. If I heard your voice, I'd never be able to let you walk out of my life again, but this is not something I have control over…so we don't speak.

A beautiful soul, perfect in its imperfections, you are the first and last of your kind.

When I finish evaluating all the hard edges this war has carved into your body…when I am able to look upon your full lips, your thin nose, your dark wisps of hair that are still damp—the short strands framing your face as you look down…

Hell. When I can finally bear witness to the truth resting in your gray eyes, my lungs constrict—choosing this moment to give up the fight for breath they once held so precious.

And regardless of what our bodies do tonight, regardless of the passion, of the expressions of love our flesh will enact…I know you will once again be gone by morning.

But I knew this before you reappeared. I've always known this. The stark reality of it is evident in the way you look at me—your message telling me not to expect anything more, silently begging me not to let my guard down…because you won't let down yours.

_Goddamn_. It slices through my heart. Each revelation further crippling the fragile organ until I am simply left with the inevitable, aching truth your arrival has summoned. That _this_ is all I will have of you. That after we fuck, you'll reach for the cool side of the pillow instead of me. That I'll awaken to your footsteps as you sneak out of the house before daybreak. That tonight is _it_.

…until the next time you march through town.

And before my traitorous tears spill the emotion you no longer feel, I grab the back of your neck and pull, crashing your lips into mine—rough and hard because you've lost the ability to understand any other way.

You have been born from the blood of battle. With uncompromising fortitude, you are almost mechanical. Your responses are appropriate because you were once _alive_. You understand the intimacies of personal interaction, and you can mimic them, even if the sentiment has become foreign to you.

You are the perfect soldier, my love. You are the first and last of your kind.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	27. Reasons

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre:** Comfort—or as close as these two characters can get *grins*

**Character(s):** Paul &amp; Leah

**Word Count:** 118

**Suggested Listening:** _"Budapest" by George Ezra_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**:** Yes, my drabble liberties are starting to run away with me. This one _is_ 118 words, but I simply didn't _want_ to cut it any further. ;)

Another challenge laid down, this one issued to **Tamfan**. Specs: 100 words, comfort, 2 characters. I decided to take it on as well; however, _she_ rocked it, and I epically failed. Below is my attempt. (This one's for you, **Tamfan**!)

* * *

**Reasons**

* * *

One reason.

She told me to give her _one_, then we'd leave all this crap behind—run off into the sunset and shit…like they do in the movies.

"Paul!"

Damn, she's stealthy. Maybe she didn't see me flinch.

"You flinched. Scared?"

"Not of a little she-wolf."

"Good, then you thought of a reason."

"To leave all this?" I spread my arms. "This empire of dirt."

Leah smirks—she fucking smirks—_my_ signature move used to push people away. "Alright. One day you'll fight for somebody if you ever wanna ditch this _empire_ of yours."

Goddammit! She's leaving.

"Love." I block her exit. "That's my reason. It's all I've got—is it enough?"

"It always has been, asshole."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	28. Crossing Lines

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Paul &amp; Leah

**Word Count:** 858

**Suggested Listening:** _"In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**: **For a five part continuation of this story, please see my stand-alone fic, _Crossed Lines_.

* * *

**Crossing Lines**

* * *

He smelled her before she crossed the ridge, heard her before she appeared between the trees. Having not phased in months—just to keep them off his trail—he was surprised at how quickly his lupine reflexes spun his body to face her when she stepped into the clearing. Licking his lips, his tongue caught her scent in the air, and a mix of lavender and pine volleyed over his taste buds…

A flavor he remembered all too well.

"What do you want, Leah?"

Placating hands held up on either side of her head, she froze. "I'm just here to talk."

"I didn't walk all the way out here just so you could hunt me down and yell because I broke the leech lover's heart."

"I'm not here to yell, Paul. But you have to come back to La Push."

He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Once. "We both know that's not gonna happen. So, why'd you really follow me to Canada?"

She glanced at the makeshift campsite.

Stapled to the ground with twigs, the tent was standing—though slightly skewed—and each time the wind sweeping through the mountain's higher elevation slapped against the vinyl shelter, it pushed the support pole a little farther off its axis. The fire in the pit was barely flickering, and the wood waiting in line to be tossed on the dying embers was broken rather than chopped. In his haste to flee, he'd obviously forgotten some basic necessities—like tent stakes, like an ax. But the bow he'd fashioned looked impressive as it leaned up against the closest tree, and the rusty pan used for cooking was still wet from the recent dip he'd given it in the nearby stream just prior to her arrival. Still, Leah had to wonder just how many kills he'd scored considering he wasn't allowing himself to phase—the only lethal method at his disposal.

Because in truth, he was looking a little thin.

Paul may have grown up by meager means, having to improvise with what he could scrounge near the reservation—hot meals manipulated from friends' homes, clothes borrowed from the shelter in Forks, broken toys rescued from random piles of garbage. He'd always been cunning and resourceful.

But a rugged outdoorsman, he was not.

"Maybe the better question is, what are _you_ doing here?" She turned her attention back to him, staring into his chocolate eyes so the intent of her question would not be misunderstood. "Who are you running from, Paul?"

"Definitely not her." He dropped Leah's gaze and walked to a small cluster of young cedars huddled together before the thick of the woods took over. Whispering—"Not Bella"—but knowing the wolf in range could hear the husky timbre that coated his breath, he pushed on a slender trunk…just to occupy his hands.

She tilted her head, watching him toy with the sapling until it cracked. "What are you doing?"

"I need more firewood."

"Do you now?" she mused.

Intrigued by her tone, he looked up to catch her staring at his collection of discarded branches and broken limbs behind the tent—the _four foot high_ collection.

"Anyway, you've just destroyed a young cedar, and unless your inexperienced ass wants to start a forest fire, you should stay away from cedars. Plus, with the heavy smoke," she snapped her wrist toward the gray wisps unfurling from the pit, "you give away your location too easily."

His wolf rose to the surface because she was the only one who ever dared to tell him like it was. She challenged him…was the only one worth the fight—

_Goddammit_. He missed her.

But that stupid Swan with her come-fuck-me tears had gotten his dick confused one night. Then when she ran off whining to baby Alpha the next morning after he didn't call her back…

"What the hell are you doing, Leah? I- I can't do this. We can't." Abandoning the helpless tree, he raked his fingers along his scalp. "I'm so sorry. I wish-"

"It's fine, Paul." She interrupted. "I knew what we were doing. I was able to handle our fucking arrangement—quite literally." She lied. "It was Bella who got attached. Remember?" She deflected.

He'd have given anything to go back in time and commit to Leah. He told her this then, on the mountain, next to the tent. "Fuck, I should've marked you—made it official," he added. Maybe if they would have just communicated…talked about their feelings…what they truly meant to each other…

Maybe if they would have stopped being so goddamn stubborn.

"We had our chance—before we were all enlisted to nurse depressed Bella back to health—but we didn't, and now it's too late." Leah absently tucked a wild hair behind her ear. "You've got to come home though; you don't have a choice."

"Why? What's left for me on the reservation?"

"Bella," she stated without pause. The time for arguments and persuasion was over. "She needs you now, Paul," dropping her eyes to examine her dirt clad feet, she watched, immersed in the quick work of her toe shoveling small pebbles from the earth, "and so will your son once he's born."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	29. We Both Know

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Warning:** _Language_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Paul/Emily, mentions Sam/Leah

**Word Count:** 527

**Suggested Listening:** _"I Don't Wanna Be in Love" by Dark Waves _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**We Both Know**

* * *

The house, dark to match his mood…_and_ the night sky.

Paul wasn't home when she left, but looking over her impeccably organized closet, he imagines what she's wearing. But he focuses on the shoes.

A single, gaping hole marks the space in line. Missing are her gold stilettos.

Her six-inch, come-fuck-me stilettos.

The ones he purchased after saving change and scrounging pennies for months.

The ones she's too insecure to wear without him by her side.

Until recently.

Thoughts brew in his mind, each forcing him to replay their toxic past.

**-**_**Just say the word if you wanna go…find someone better…**_**-**

She heads home from the bar, another night spent searching the bottom of a bottle for something she never finds.

Legs crossed, bare feet pinned under her thighs, she rides in the back seat holding the gold stilettos in her lap. She thought she wanted flash—the attention and adrenaline rush those goddamn shoes gave her. Paul worked so hard to make her happy…after Sam ran back to Leah.

Emily's finger strokes the shiny material, and her mind wanders through leftover intoxication, finding the ironic similarities between her husband's gift and his love.

Her thoughts tumble between Paul and the damn stilettos.

**-**_**Fall asleep in the shadows of something beautiful 'til it's not enough…**_**\- **

Glancing at the dresser, the crystal framing the still shot of their wedding day draws him near.

Sam and Leah weren't there.

Because of _their_ betrayal.

At least that's what the newlyweds told each other to soothe the anxiety.

Picking up the picture, Paul rubs his thumb over his wife's smile. She was always so perfect—not a single flaw—outshining Leah in every way…

Almost.

**-**_**I only see you in black and white like a photograph of another life.**_**-**

Emily knows sincerity could have saved them. The pattern their marriage repeated led them back to the start, to what they tried to change since they each said 'I do'.

The driver stops in front of their house too quickly and her head spins. The alcohol is still in effect, still uncovering truths.

He was never her Sam.

She was never his Leah.

Emily drops a twenty in the front seat before sliding out of the taxi. Walking to the trash, she drops in the stilettos and turns to the dark porch.

Sucking in a breath…

**-**_**Your heart is somewhere else; it's not like I couldn't tell**_**.-**

Paul understands everything. He was a lucky man. Emily chose him when her cousin refused to look twice. But that illusion he sold himself only lasted so long before reality appeared.

He lays their wedding picture face down on the dresser and takes off his gold band. Placing the simple ring on the cardboard backing of the frame, he looks toward their bed.

**-**_**Can't give you all my love when I don't even love myself**_**.-**

Exhaling with a whisper, "Then I don't wanna be in love," Emily's feet stay rooted, refusing to carry her up the wooden steps.

Paul grabs the duffle bag packed full of his belongings, and his fingers grip the handle of the front door. "No, I don't wanna be in love."

* * *

*_Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;) _


	30. Hold Me Down

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Warning:** _L__a__nguage_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Sam &amp; Emily

**Word Count:** 539

**Suggested Listening:** _"Grow Back Out" by New Animal _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Hold Me Down**

* * *

Her bags were in the trunk.

He'd loaded them last night.

Twelve years of living in the same godforsaken town, the same yellow house, and everything she owned filled nothing more than two pathetic suitcases.

Emily poured coffee—cream, no sugar—in a thermos for the road. She knew where she was going; she had plans. Hell, she always had plans, but if the last decade taught her anything, it was that plans don't mean shit in the real world.

The springs from the worn mattress echoed down the hall, and she froze—her galloping heart caught in her throat. She was hoping to be gone before he awoke. They'd confessed their final thoughts somewhere around midnight…then spent the next few hours memorizing the brailled patterns raised on their flesh, paying homage to a stifled love no longer allowed to grow.

She already missed him so goddamn much. And once she got in that car—the unassuming blue sedan sitting in her driveway, the one waiting to drag her away from every single thing that had ever truly felt like _home_—it was going to take every ounce of strength left in her body not to turn around at the "Welcome to La Push" sign.

_Dammit_. Sam was all she knew.

He was her entire life. They'd been together since they were practically kids. But she wasn't that young girl anymore. She wasn't the same nineteen year old he fell in love with all those years ago.

God, how she wished she was. She'd give anything to find her way back there again, but life has a way of changing people. And sometimes, even living in the same house, eating at the same table—sleeping in the same bed—can't keep two people on the same path.

Emily peeked down the hall toward their room—toward _his_ room—her view of the end of the bed unobstructed, and Sam's large feet still entangled in the sheets allowed her lungs to once again grab for the oxygen they'd been deprived of.

He must have just rolled over.

Closing her eyes for the briefest moment, she sent a silent prayer to the spirits before turning to grab her keys from the basket by the front door.

It was time—all her goodbyes already said, all her tears already shed…at least the ones destined to fall on tribal ground. Tonight, when she stopped at the motel, when she curled in on herself—alone and scared, yet attempting to sooth away the pain—on the indiscriminate mattress that so many other travelers had bedded… Well, that would be a different story.

But in the moment she was strong. And her feet were still able to move.

Emily was leaving the man she loved to find the woman she was meant to be. To find the woman she lost somewhere along the way.

Just outside the reservation, she pulled off the road. Staring at La Push's welcome sign in her rearview mirror; contemplating life, love, and choices for almost an hour before she stamped her foot on the gas and bolted down the blacktop.

To this day, she swears she caught a glimpse of the black wolf when she sped off…

But that might have only been wishful thinking…or the silent pleas of her broken heart.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	31. Let the Daylight Bring Her Home

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre:** Angst, Family

**Character(s):** Sue &amp; Leah

**Word Count:** 458

**Suggested Listening:** _"Lost" Aqualung cover by Cameron Mitchell _

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Let the Daylight Bring Her Home**

* * *

This house is cold.

Once filled with the light warmth of laughter, it's now heavy and dark.

But this change didn't happen overnight. We slowly moved into the shadows where we now live.

Years ago, we were whole, and she used to smile—back before she called Sam 'unequivocally detestable.' I'm not even sure where she picked up those words. Certainly not from me; definitely not from Harry—rest his soul.

But that Sam, he sure did a number on my Leah. He tore her heart to pieces and couldn't give her an honest reason why.

I knew though. Tribal legends, protector of our people—Sam was one of the chosen. Too bad I gave my word to the council and couldn't tell her what happened to her fiance…or why he took one look at her cousin and never again turned his head toward my beautiful daughter.

So many nights, when I heard her cry herself to sleep, I sat outside her door and counted down from 1,000. I swore if she was still bawling by the time I got to zero, I was gonna tell her everything. I'd storm in her room and spill all the ancient secrets—consequences be damned.

But she usually stopped somewhere around 300.

Then I'd go to Harry and he'd hold me while I took a turn crying myself to sleep.

What kinda mother was I? I couldn't help mend my own daughter's wounds, and I was supposed to be the tribe's nurse.

But this was the first break she had that I couldn't set right. The arm she messed up when she jumped off the roof at eight years old was nothing compared to this. The leg she fractured at eleven when Paul dared her to backflip off a boulder on the beach…it was nothin'.

Sam broke more than bone; he shattered her heart. This time…it was somethin'.

Then when Harry died…

We always knew Seth might get caught up in the Quileute magic, but nobody was expecting Leah to change. Hell, they both phased together, right there in front of Harry, and another heart I loved broke.

Another heart I couldn't mend.

But Leah took his death the hardest. Once she understood why Sam really left her for Emily and why she suddenly turned into a giant wolf, she just took all those feelings she had—all those tears she used to cry into her pillow—and soaked them up somewhere deep inside her own soul.

My baby girl blamed herself for all of it; she blamed the blood running in her veins. She turned angry and bitter, and I lost her along the way.

Once filled with the light warmth of laughter, she's now heavy and dark.

And this house is so cold.

* * *

*_Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;) _


	32. Smoke and Mirrors

**Warning: **_L__anguage_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Sam &amp; OC

**Suggested Listening: **_"You" by The Pretty Reckless_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Smoke and Mirrors**

* * *

Jade eyes lined in black with smears of charcoal shadow. A stroke of plum across her lips, Delilah applies the final touch.

Chocolate hair falls down her back in ringlets she once cursed, until _he_ said it distinguished her from the others.

Sam claimed she was special. He knew the moment they spoke she was meant to be his.

She warned him not to move too fast. She's only capable of causing pain.

He didn't listen.

Instead, he sent flowers.

Delilah adjusts her skirt, the hem resting two inches above her thigh-highs. A leather jacket covers the corset, and her dark appearance reflects her mood.

Walking out the door, she passes wilting roses. Unsure if she'll toss them in the morning, it depends on the degree of penance she sentences herself to.

Arriving at the bar, she scans the crowd. No one here would turn Delilah down.

She's tempting. They're drunk.

Initially unknown, their bodies connect them in the alley ten minutes later. She hikes her skirt; he fucks her from behind. Hands braced against the red brick, she reads the graffiti before her.

Shedding a single tear, she whispers a confession the stranger doesn't hear.

"I love you, Sam."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;-)_


	33. Bird of Prey

**Warning: **_L__anguage_

**Genre:** Humor

**Character(s):** Seth &amp; Jessica, Bella, Lauren, Leah

**Suggested Listening: **_"Let's Fall in Love" by Mother, Mother_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Bird of Prey**

* * *

"Who _is_ that?" Lauren rests her forearm on Jess' shoulders.

"Huh?"

Gripping Jess' chin, she directs her toward the **man** on the couch.

"Holy _fuck_ if I know. But I _wanna_."

"Down, girls." Bella attempts to save the duo from annihilation. "Leah'll kill you for drooling over her baby bro like that."

"_That's_ Seth?" Jess still hasn't blinked.

"Bella," Lauren snaps, "when did Leah leave for beer?"

"Five minutes ago?"

"C'mon, Jess. There's time."

"But _when_ did Seth happen?" Still focused on his transformation as Lauren pushes her forward, Jess stumbles.

Masculine hands catch her waist, her lips inches from his smirk. "Hi," he breathes.

"Hi," Jess blushes.

Seth's eyes cut to Lauren. His gaze conveying disinterest when a raucous commotion draws their attention.

Leah growls the vulture's name, a smug Bella standing behind her.

Giggles bound when Jess runs off with Seth, leaving Lauren to confront the she-wolf alone.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;-)_


	34. New York Pigeons & Old School Robots

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre: **Romance

**Character(s): **Paul &amp; Bella

**Word Count:** 100

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**New York Pigeons &amp; Old School Robots**

* * *

"Paul, how did you know I'd love this place?"

"When your best friend's my alpha, I get inside info."

"I'll remember that." Bella watches his profile, the grin plumping the apple of his cheek.

Strolling through Central Park hand-in-hand, Paul jerks her toward him. "Pigeon poop!"

"You _saved_ me," mocking her fiancé, she stretches to peck the tip of his nose.

The funky sound of Styx's "Mr. Roboto" drifts by from a random radio.

With a mischievous glint to her eye—"But who's gonna save you from 'the robot'?"—she steps back and bends her arms at right angles.

"Bella!"

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	35. Cupcake

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre: **Humor

**Character(s): **Quil, mentions of Claire, Embry, &amp; Paul

**Word Count:** 100

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Cupcake**

* * *

He wanted to try it on—maybe prance a little—then take it off.

He didn't want to _live_ in the thing.

Claire had fun anytime she wore it, and Quil needed a distraction. Anxiety over her first day of kindergarten forced the pack to isolate him, but after three hours, he got bored.

So. He tried it on.

But _just_ to do a few pirouettes.

Then it got stuck around his middle, and he phoned for help.

Now, they're sitting on the couch—the pink tutu stowed in Claire's toybox, and Embry cackling each time Paul calls Quil, _Cupcake_.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	36. Victims

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre: **Horror

**Character(s): **The pack

**Word Count:** 100

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**: Tricky Raven's 3rd Annual Silent Auction** ends April 21st! Place your bids to have your image/story idea come to life by one of the talented authors or artists on the auction block. I'm also up for auction and willing to write almost anything for my winning bidder!

* * *

**Victims**

* * *

Volunteer firefighters, the pack's called whenever Charlie needs extra hands. Today, something massive clogs the main sewer line.

"You comin', Cheese?" Paul yells from inside the manhole.

Jacob climbs down the ladder. "Don't call me 'Cheese'!"

"Stop goofy-ass grinnin' then. We know Bella chose you. We _see_ it every time you phase."

He ignores Paul and searches the mucky, underground tunnels. Rounding the corner, Jacob's spotlight illuminates a human dam.

The pack, stunned into silence, inspects the limbs. Small puncture wounds mark the flesh of each body.

"Ho-lee shhi...," Embry speaks first. "Now what?"

Jacob's last. "We hunt for leeches."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	37. Death Becomes You

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Warning:** _Character death_

**Genre: **Tragedy, Drama

**Character(s): **Bella

**Word Count:** 100

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Death Becomes You**

* * *

Always a clutz, Bella had more accidents than anyone could count.

But her latest was killer.

The last thing she remembered was losing grip on the cup. Hot coffee spilled on Charlie's leg and screeching tires, accompanied by a jarring motion, indicated the car left the open road in preference of the clustered trees.

Now, she floats above her supine body, watching people in blue scrubs hover and blinking lights beep random warnings.

A persistent tone sounds and frantic hands rush toward her.

Someone barks orders she doesn't understand, and the one in charge turns somber.

"Time of death: 5:42pm."

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	38. Her

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre:** Drama

**Character(s):** Jared &amp; Bella, mentions of Kim

**Word Count: **100

**Prompt:** "I have a thousand things to say to you... a thousand reasons not to."

**Suggested Listening:** "Haunted" by Beyoncé from the 50 Shades of Grey soundtrack

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**: **This one is meant to be read slowly. Pause at the commas. Stop at the periods. ;)

* * *

**Her.**

* * *

The alpha's beta.

He hunts me in my dreams.

He haunts me when I'm awake.

He watches me. And I don't protest.

I see his wife.

I see _through_ his wife—as fragile as glass, no substance inside.

She greets me. I respond, "Kim."

I smile at her, my eyes trained on him.

His knowing smirk penetrates me.

Like _he_ does in my fantasies.

Rips my blouse, pushes me against the wall.

Invading my body in my private thoughts.

I _crave_ him.

But can't have him.

The spirits proclaimed _her_ his destiny.

"Bella."

I turn.

My husband calls for me.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	39. Bitter Rust

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Warning: **_Adultery_

**Genre: **Drama

**Character(s): **Sarah &amp; Billy, mentions of Jacob, Embry, &amp; Tiffany

**Word Count:** 500

**Suggested Listening:** "Metal and Dust" by London Grammar

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Bitter Rust**

* * *

"The boys are asleep in the living room." Sarah grabbed Jacob's pants from the basket. "They dozed before E.T. phoned home. I couldn't bear to wake them; they looked so peaceful." She placed the folded clothing atop the growing stack. Gazing at Billy, a pained smile adorned her delicate features. "Embry's content here."

He didn't respond.

There was no question, but she still hoped for an acknowledgement. At some point, she needed details of that night, she needed…

Covering her busy hands with his, the affection interrupted her thoughts. "I love _you_, Sarah. You know that. Right?"

Now it was her turn not to respond…even though he _did_ ask a question.

She pulled away under the pretense of folding small shirts and tiny socks.

Spiderman stared at her from the basket, and Sarah wondered if the faded tee belonged to Embry. Because Jacob preferred Superman. Both shirts were blue, so she probably gathered it with her son's laundry—not that Sarah minded. Spirit knows Tiffany rarely washed the boy's clothes.

She never understood what Billy saw in…

"Sarah," he interrupted…again. "I _need_ you to believe me."

Refusing to look at him, but knowing he wouldn't relent until she spoke, she redirected the conversation. "Last week, Jacob came to me with tears in his eyes, wanting to know why we treated Embry just like him. Apparently, he'd been sitting in his room, thinking it over and working up the nerve to ask."

Her tone was more biting than she intended.

"What did you say?" His was defeated.

Turning to Billy—his head bowed—she answered, "I told _our_ son his best friend was special, just like him. I told Jacob not everyone has _two _parents to look after them, and Embry just needs extra love sometimes. I told him one day, when they're older, they might need each other more than they know, and if they bonded _now_ as _brothers_, it will help them look out for one another in the future."

Her husband sat on the edge of the bed. "I've damaged more than just us. I never thought—"

"No you didn't!" Sarah snapped.

"I'm sorry for what I did. But it's been years. How long do I have to keep apologizing?"

"Until one of us is in the ground." She knew those words stung, and she usually controlled her tongue, but sometimes…

_Sometimes_ built up emotions flew out of her mouth before she could stop them.

This was one of those times.

Closing her eyes, she fought to calm raw nerves. Her anger—this resentment—got them nowhere. She _knew_ this.

They both _knew_ this.

But moving on from a painful past of broken promises and mistrust took more than a hundred 'I'm sorries', more than a thousand flowers.

She didn't know what it took—she wished she did—but whatever that _thing_ was…

She knew it took _more _of it.

"Please, Sarah. Let us move past this."

Opening her eyes, she looked at Billy…

Contemplating.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	40. Sundress

_**Twi-Fic Drabble**_

**Genre: **Hurt, Tragedy

**Character(s): **Leah &amp; Sam

**Word Count:** 100

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Sundress**

* * *

Trees planted in rows. The lush grass cushions the ground.

Fingers grazing bark, she looks at him—a soft smile radiating from the life she held within.

The life they shared.

Her sundress billows on the breeze, and she's beautiful, this image of Leah from yesteryear.

The wind gusts. Her body fades.

Unable to stop the inevitable, he watches the magic of her evaporation.

Pummeling the nearest tree, he hates these hands.

He must punish these hands.

These hands that couldn't save her.

Until next year, Sam waits…

For the angels to release her…

For a glimpse of her return.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	41. Recovery Wounds

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s):** Jake, Bella, &amp; mentions of Embry

**Word Count:** 500

**Suggested Listening:** "I'm on Fire" by Bruce Springsteen

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Recovery Wounds**

* * *

"We're not meant to breathe forever." She runs a finger along the serrated blade. A wistful longing held captive in her eyes, one she doesn't think I see. Her lashes flutter. It dissipates, and she comes back to the present.

Back to me.

"You're right, Bells. We aren't. But we aren't meant to be immortal either."

Her head snaps toward me. Suspicion encases her dark eyes. The color—earthy, _alive _like the forest, and so natural I can smell it. My people treasure this color that breeds life.

The color she wanted to trade for red.

She returns to her task—chopping vegetables with a knife meant for tearing bread. She never uses anything for its intended purpose.

Not even people.

Because she refused to use _me_ when I was free and willing—before the imprint stole me away.

But she didn't want help. Not then.

And not really now.

But _now_ she doesn't have a choice. He made sure of that. He made sure we saved her.

"If you're gonna stand guard, at least help me cook, _Jake_." The way she says my name should twist the knife she stabbed in my gut every time she rejected me. But it doesn't. Not anymore.

At least I can thank the imprint for that.

Sometimes, people mistakenly believe blessings are curses. Sometimes, the opposite is true. This is a lesson we both learned, but Bella's taking longer to accept it.

Cullen was her addiction disguised as happiness. Today, she goes through withdrawals. But the imprint helps her, too.

Not my imprint.

_Hers_.

The magic of my people understand we are warriors, and to be fearless, we must be balanced. Whole.

If man or wolf cannot be settled, he is awarded an imprint to tame him.

If he cannot focus, the imprint clears his vision.

If he becomes obsessed, the imprint unbounds him.

My attachment to Bella still tethers me, but this hold no longer compresses my lungs when I see her thoughts drift to another, when I know she'd rather be elsewhere.

Because the moments inbetween her cryptic phrases—the ones where she caresses a blade and yearns for death, yearns for her addiction—are growing. And _that _is thanks to him, to _her_ imprint.

To Embry.

Because sometimes, the imprint isn't for the wolf or the man. Sometimes, it's for the mate.

She was in danger.

A threat needed to be removed, and he was the only one who could do it.

I was too close. No one else cared enough. When Bella became his, she became pack.

And pack can't remain behind enemy lines.

So, every now and then, she craves her addiction, craves the one thing in this world guaranteed to kill her.

Because an addict is never cured. An addict, in simplest terms, is in a constant state of recovery.

I turn on the oven, and we spend the rest of the evening in silence, waiting for our savior to return from patrol.

We wait for Embry.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	42. Begging Forgiveness

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre:** Angst

**Character(s): **Sam &amp; Leah, mentions of Emily

**Word Count:** 500

**Suggested Listening:** "When You Break" by Bear's Den

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Begging Forgiveness**

* * *

Hiding in the shadows of the towering pines, she watches.

Crouched at the base of a redwood, having phased back to flesh and bone, her alpha's bare skin rests against the rough bark. Cupped hands catch his runaway tears, and familiar pangs stab her heart.

She hasn't witnessed this version of Sam since he pushed her away with cold shoulders and downcast eyes.

Self-loathing Sam. The one who drowns himself in the blame he claims alone.

The man before her carries the weight of his people, of his tribe. Of tradition. What's expected of him is not to be envied. It's hard. It hurts. Legends, based in truth, force him to make cruel decisions, to break open hearts, to rip families apart.

Force him to worship Emily.

Force him to dominate his brothers—demanding they submit with every order he gives.

His life holds no envious thing.

Sometimes, he runs with the wolf. Hungry for peace, his strides are long as he searches for sustenance in the forest. But he always returns starving.

No one finds answers in the woods. She tried. Leah ran, but just once. She needed to understand this part of him. She needed to understand so _she _could forgive.

But she never did.

Not until he disappeared for four days—the longest to date. The pack ignored his absence.

She didn't.

Sam returned, ragged and thin. And that's when she knew.

He was punishing himself.

The alpha can't break. Not in the presence of others. So he runs to find space to fall apart.

She didn't need to force these answers from the pack. It was obvious. _This_ was his routine—since becoming one with the wolf, he chases isolation whenever it's offered.

This was also when Leah decided to watch over him—to wait for his return every time he departs, to stand guard at La Push's border until he crosses the threshold. He doesn't immediately go home to Emily. Not always. Sometimes he wanders the outskirts of the rez for hours. On these days, she follows him.

But words are never exchanged. He may not realize she's there.

Because from this distance, he should smell her. He should hear her breaths, but he doesn't acknowledge her presence if he feels it.

He never does.

So, here he sits, tears caught in cupped hands. And in this solitude, he exposes a bruised soul—broken and scarred. More broken than Leah. More scarred than Emily.

She hides in the shadows of the towering pines, watching him beg for forgiveness. She released him of this weight long ago, but he's not requesting forgiveness from her.

He's requesting it of himself.

The wind whirls behind her. The alerting sound disrupting his lament, rooting him in duty, and his desperate quest ends.

For now.

Sam looks toward the rustling forest and locks eyes with her.

No expression paints either face. No longing aches either chest. No emotion speeds either heart.

And as stealthily as she followed him, Leah leaves.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	43. Shades of Blue and the Great White

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre: **Suspense

**Character(s): **Bella, Jake, Embry, &amp; Quil

**Word Count:** 890 (with alternate ending)

**Suggested Listening:** "Waves that Rolled You Under" by Young Summer

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

_**Author's Note**_**: **A nod to _Shark Week_, I hope you enjoy this Twilight twist.

There is an alternate/continued ending to this piece posted below. I couldn't decide which ending to go with, so I leave that choice to you. I'd love to know which one you prefer (though I do have an idea). :D

* * *

**Shades of Blue and the Great White**

* * *

"Bella!"

A forceful nudge rocks her body, but the waves washing through her pounding head keep her eyes from opening.

"Bella! Wake up!" Another shove against her shoulder before her body can stop moving from the first rough hand.

Groaning, she rubs her cheek against something hard. Something weathered. Something…

Unexpected.

Sheer determination pries open her lids just enough to blind her from the brightness before self-preservation clamps them shut.

"Dammit! Don't close your eyes! Wake the fuck up!"

That voice—it's Jake. And he's yelling.

At her.

Not at the others, because there were others—she's sure of it. Somewhere in her groggy mind, she remembers others.

But he's only addressing her.

And pushing her, too.

With urgent hands she's never felt before. Not with this much frustration behind them.

And she's _still_ rocking. All of her. Not just her head. It's pounding, yes, but the waves inside are suddenly _outside_. All around and dragging on her.

And she's wet.

Everywhere. She's wet.

"Ja-ake. Wha—" And this time she refuses to allow her lids to slam shut against the piercing light.

"Bella?" Rough hands turn gentle, tucking a tangled clump of hair behind her ear. "Shit, Bells. I thought I lost you, too."

Eyes adjusting, she makes out the shades of blue framing his face. The blanket of dark blue that ripples beneath them. The stroke of powder blue that steadies the midday sky above.

But what's missing is the block of cobalt blue that _should_ be strong and sure underfoot. The planks of bright blue that _should_ be keeping her dry and warm.

What's also missing are the two _others_—the faces she's grown to love over the years. The two men with tan skin and black hair that she considers brothers. Safety. Security.

Family.

"Jake. Where's…everything? Everyone?" She feels the anxiety before it escalates her tone. And the tightness in her chest from lack of oxygen, but she can't stop her voice from cracking when she says their names.

"Qui-il? Where is he?"

Panic constricts her vocal chords and the final question barely makes it past her lips.

"Jake, where's Em-mbry?"

Head shaking, he doesn't want to answer—she can tell. "I don't understand what happened. Something big rammed our boat, and we… It capsized, Bella."

Eyes trailing down to his trembling hands resting on the splintered piece of cobalt blue supporting her upper body, all of him dangles in the ocean, cutting through the waves.

"It was a mistake. We shouldn't have been out here." A quivering breath changes the direction of his thoughts. "You know they weren't good swimmers. I- I tried to help, tried to… But it took me so long to find—"

He bites his lip to stop the confession. But she knows what was coming next. He left enough clues.

Jake spent too long looking for _her_.

All those damn inadequacies—forever hurting the ones she loves.

She is never enough of _anything_ to stop the painful cycle of rejection and loss.

For Renee, it was excitement. She required it in infinite supply, and Bella's reservoir just didn't hold enough.

The Cullens wanted more polish. They demanded her more proper and regal—more things added to her lesser-than list.

And Charlie. His request was simple. He asked her to care about something. Maybe even him a little. But she couldn't grant him that consideration and their relationship stretched taut at the seams.

Again. Not enough.

And even now. After all this time, all those countless hours her three best friends spent rebuilding her when the Cullens left and Charlie grew distant, after all the love and support they gave her…

Even now, she's _still_ not enough—not strong enough—for the two men floating somewhere below her in the expanse of deep blue.

Because if she was, if she had been. She'd have saved herself. So Jake could've saved them.

A flash of white arcs out of the water, and she swears she sees a mane of orange flames follow its dive back down.

Jake's wolf growls in his chest and the gruff sound pushes out an admission. "It's back."

The instinct to flee spikes her blood. "Wha- what's back?"

It's a whisper, but he hears it.

She can tell by the way his eyes widen right before she sucks in the breath destined to chase her question.

Right before he looks over her shoulder.

And right before he disappears.

Slipping below the surface without a fight, he's ripped away from her like the others.

Only this time, she's awake. She watches him leave.

And she hears it, too.

She hears the tinkling laughter popping from the bubbles that surface in his wake.

And now. She hears that mocking melody sing out her name.

"_Bellahhh…_"

.

.

.

.

.

_**Alternate Ending/Continuation**__**:**_

Forceful nudges rock her body.

"Bella! Wake up!" Jake's anxious tone jars her mind as the line blurs between reality and hallucination.

"Yeah, Bella—" _Embry?_ "—You're the one excited for today. You know I don't like boats."

"Get your ass up, B! We're gonna be late!"

Quil's voice is the one that finally pulls her head off the pillow resting on her bed, but she still can't stop the feeling of dread that freezes the pulse in her veins when she looks into their very-much-alive eyes.

For now…

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	44. Petrified

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre: **Horror, Suspense

**Character(s): **Two wolves — I know my pick, you choose yours. ;)

**Word Count: **200

**Suggested Listening: **"Doctor Online" by Zeromancer

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Petrified**

* * *

Petrified.

Entombed.

Blackened fingernails of a carcass exposed through a crack in the earth.

Following familiar scents, the wolf discovers this jagged appendage protruding from its once-hidden depths.

The beast, a curious being, snuffs and digs at the ground, uncovering an obnoxious ring circling the third finger.

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_Master!"_ Hackles raised, it jumps. Startled.

"_Answer me!"_

"_I request forgiveness." _Its massive frame bows toward the approaching wolf. _"I was sent to retrieve you—your presence is needed in our territory."_

"_Forgive?" _The larger beast glances at the scratches in the dry soil._ "Tell me. What have you found?"_

"_Nothing!" _A response given too quickly to be truthful, and danger flashes—shared images of the last time someone lied to Master. The younger wolf stammers, _"I— I thought I smelled her. She's been gone so long, and we— we're searching with the enemy, and… and you…" _Its eyes scan the horizon for a place to rest. _"You want her back, too."_

With no acknowledgement of the confession, the larger animal demands, _"We leave now." _And when the smaller one turns away, Master expertly kicks dirt over the beseeching hand.

A perfect execution to cover the perfect lie.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels—if ya wanna. ;)_


	45. Syrup

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre: **Dark Comfort

**Character(s): **Leah &amp; Jasper

**Word Count:** 1072

**Suggested Listening:** "The Hanging Tree" by Angus &amp; Julia Stone

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Syrup**

* * *

"You're late."

"Sorry, sweetheart. Had to wait for Alice to leave. Told the others I was goin' out to grab a bite." The flash in his eyes rivals the glint on his teeth when he smirks. Leaning against the trunk of a huge sequoia older than him, he studies the girl sitting on the log of its fallen comrade. "You think that tree supportin' your ass made a sound when it fell?"

"Shut it, Jasper! I don't have time for your philosophical bullshit," Leah fumes. "I don't like to wait. I'm pi—"

"Yeahhh," he drawls. "You're pissed alright. I could feel ya 'fore I crossed the river."

Wringing her hands—"Fuck, Jasper. Just do it already!"—she's unsettled. The tapestry of her nerves fray at the edges while she waits for waves of tranquility to shore the unraveling mess.

Waves that never come.

Leah jerks her chin toward the lounging vampire, her piercing stare cutting into him deeper than her teeth ever could.

"Naw, I 'spect that tree didn't make a sound. Wasn't anyone around to see it fall." Hooking a thumb through his denim belt loop, he doesn't shy from her penetrating gaze. "What about you, li'l girl? Anybody see you fall?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" She grits her teeth hard enough to crack a back molar.

Watching her wince at the jab of pain, he knows what happened. He heard it. More than that, he _felt_ it—the sharp arc shooting through his own jaw.

"You gotta settle down, youngin'. What ya gonna do when I'm not around? When I can't slip past Alice?"

"You can always _slip past _Alice. Her visions are shit around me, remember? And you? You're the great _Major Whitlock_," she mocks, a sarcastic grin taking residence on her lips. "You're telling me you can't get by the saccharine little pixie you've been playing house with longer than I've been alive?"

He pushes a fraction of energy to her. Just so she'll relax enough to hear him, to understand his concern. "I'm worried about ya. You gotta confide in someone. 'Cause as much as I love what we got goin' on here, how's it gonna last forever?" Walking to the weathered log, each step increasing the intensity with which he manipulates her emotions, until he sits and places a calm hand atop her fidgeting fingers. "Darlin'. Somebody's bound to find out sooner or later."

As he radiates mood stabilizers, Leah relaxes into him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breaths slow to a lethargic rhythm and her eyes drift closed before those lazy lips part to whisper the words he longs to hear. "I don't want to, Jasper. Nobody but you."

And for just a moment, he swears he feels a flutter in the deep well of his chest. The phantom beats of a long-deceased heart.

They sit like that—hands touching, bodies still—for what feels like seconds in the span of an eternal life, but is, in reality, the better part of an entire day. This becomes obvious when the sun slinks behind the trees and the shadows grow long.

And while Leah sleeps, he contemplates—the only pastime he can rely on indefinitely, and one he's gotten much practice at over the years.

The thoughts running through his head confirm the monster he's become. Because even though he should hate Sam Uley for all the ways in which he broke the girl sitting next to him…

He doesn't.

But not just that. It's worse. And when he digs deeper, he realizes just how much the venom in his veins poisoned his forgotten soul. Because he's _glad_ for what Sam did.

He's _thankful_ for it.

Yet, if this were truly the extent to Jasper's twisted sense of gratitude, he could forgive himself. Because even that makes sense.

Leah's heart was shattered, and each day since, she's been forced to experience Sam's loving thoughts toward Emily and obey his every command. If this chain of events hadn't happened, she never would've accepted Jasper's gift.

She never would've accepted _Jasper_.

But that's not it.

There's more.

When he follows his thoughts down the rabbit hole, what he finds is more disturbing. Without all the wolf magic, none of this—playing hero to the she-wolf—would exist. Because shapeshifters were born to counteract the demands of vampire hunger.

So this, too—the creation of his mortal enemy—he is thankful for.

But that's still not all.

In fact, it begins before Mother Nature caught on. Before she solved her most threatening problem. Because in simplest terms, the wolves exist to save the _humans_.

And as the moon takes its rightful place in the night sky, Jasper finally understands, in all its morbid glory, what he's truly thankful for.

The sweet and alluring blood that calls to the ravenous vampire.

He is thankful for all the centuries of drained humans that led him to this moment in time. He's thankful for the pillaged villages and stolen souls. Not for those who turned immortal, but for those who never had a chance. For those who shed their blood so his kind could feast. Because _they_ ultimately delivered Leah to him.

No one else.

And in this realization, he develops a new appreciation for what he is.

The patience of the demon inside is unparalleled, and a spreading grin splits his lips, exposing teeth bathed in venom that shimmer under the pale glow of light, teeth that should be stained red from overuse, teeth that—if human—would be worn down from decades of feeding on stubborn hides instead of sinking into soft flesh…

And suddenly, he's acutely aware of _her_ jumping pulse. Not all the past victims he remembers so fondly.

But _hers_.

And how it sings to him. Syrupy sweet with an aroma so tempting he can't stop the poison pooling under his tongue.

And this much he knows, this much he's sure of.

She's his.

She _will be_ his. With patience.

And moments before he stirs to wake the sleeping girl, he replaces the peace she desires with a slight touch of jealousy. Of insecurity. Of frustration.

And just enough anger to propel the natural course of her emotions at an unnatural speed.

Just enough to remind Leah why she seeks him in the first place. Why she _needs_ him.

Just enough to ensure their time apart is fleeting.

Patience, Jasper. Patience.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


	46. Raspberry Lace

_**Twi-Fic Flashfic**_

**Genre: **Erotica

**Character(s): **Bella &amp; Leah, the pack

**Word Count:** 572

**Suggested Listening:** _"Breathe" by of Verona_

**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Raspberry Lace**

* * *

Standing in front of the mirror, head down, her fingers tremble. Gaze flitting to her reflection, to the raspberry corset that constricts her waist and swells two creamy mounds from the top.

A warm hand grazes her jaw, cupping her chin and beckoning her to look up. In a moment of indecision, she stalls—the only pause she's allowed. It's the only one accepted, because in _this_ room, she doesn't think. In _this _room…

She simply does.

Watches.

Watches the delicate fingers drift down to dust her breasts, the caramel skin so close to her heart it steals her breath…

And she listens.

She listens when Leah whispers at her ear. Instructing her… Reminding her…

"Breathe, Bella."

And she obeys.

Restricting her inhales, the firm boning presses tight against her ribs, marking the flesh underneath red.

Lean legs covered in sheer black step into her downcast view. Her gaze follows the contoured trail lining the toned muscles until she halts mid-thigh, lost in the transition of textured lace to smooth skin.

Light touches tracing down Bella's arm prickle her flesh in its wake, and her tongue sticks behind her teeth when Leah covers the slight distance between them, moving in so close the heated energy from their bodies mingles, offering the mildest resistance.

Not like the others, Leah takes her time. Savoring the sensuality.

Because the men are different—harsher. Their bites don't tease. Their teeth just claim.

But the way Leah nips the cord of Bella's neck…

Her velvet tongue, soothing _and_ sizzling to the flesh. And the wind wafting through the open window breezes between the fine hairs on her skin.

Enhancing everything. When her breath catches.

When warm exhales caress her ear.

"Breathe, Bella."

She obeys.

Guiding her with a gentle pull, Leah leads her to the edge of the bed. A mild press to her shoulders and Bella sits.

No words are spoken. None needed. Immersed in her role, she's eager to please, following even the slightest direction without pause.

Submissive.

Because the pack taught her well.

Each in his own way. And Leah in hers.

Some were aggressive—too rough—leaving raised marks on her skin for days. Some were gentle and giving, offering her ecstasy before the first nick of her flesh from sharp teeth. Some were sure, confident in what they wanted and how they would get it.

And some were shy, allowing her to take the lead until, in the throes of passion, the animal would emerge and take control.

But they all demanded compliance. Demanded her to yield to their authority without question.

And she does, when Leah directs her to lie on the bed, to raise her arms and spread her legs. And Bella knows to stay still when the cuffs lock her to the headboard, to the footboard.

Her blood picks up speed. Screaming through her ears, it creates a pulsating backdrop of white noise, her body throbbing to its rhythm. The arousal that wets the satin fabric between her thighs thrills her with its implications.

Because _they_ can smell it.

She knows.

And Bella shivers when a chorus of howls echo into the night. Too loud.

_Too_ close.

The door opens and seven predators slink into view, their skin shimmering with perspiration, their eyes on her—rings of fire igniting each stare—and she freezes.

But when Leah's sultry voice brushes against her ear… Commanding her…

"Breathe, Bella."

She obeys.

* * *

_*Alright, hit me with your thoughts and feels_—_if ya wanna. ;)_


End file.
